


A Man of Honor, A Woman of Courage, and A Timeless Love

by HooksLovelySwan (ChainOfPaperClips)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 56,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainOfPaperClips/pseuds/HooksLovelySwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon Divergent Neverland story. Killian reveals the truth about Neal's survival, and sets out to prove himself an honorable man, making an enormous sacrifice in the process. Forced to face her feelings in the face of this, Emma must gather all the courage she possesses to win back the love of her amnesiac pirate in the hopes that they can finally find a happy ending. Rating subject to change as story develops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Killian watched David retreat from the campfire with Mary-Margaret at last, their hands entwined, whispering to each other-of what, he could not imagine, nor did he care. Regina had retired some time before, and he had been waiting for what felt like an eternity for Emma's parents to take their own leave. David shot him one glance over his shoulder, and Killian waved his hook in sarcastic acknowledgment, unable to help himself. The prince seemed to frown, although the expression was so fleeting Killian could not be certain. Shrugging a shoulder, he turned his attention back to the crackling fire in front of him. David had little to worry about now. Pan had seen to that.

Eyeing Emma surreptitiously, he struggled to utter the words that he had contemplated all day. Reaching instinctively for his flask of rum, he uncorked the bottle and lifted it to his lips. Hesitating as it came into focus again, he lowered the bottle and replaced the cork. Damn Pan, he thought, stashing the bottle back inside his coat. Damn him for everything.

"Someone spit in your rum?"

He looked up, startled to hear Emma speak. Since their arrival in Neverland, he had been the one to initiate most of their conversations. At any other time, under any other circumstances, he would have welcomed such initiative on her part. Now it only frustrated him, for any interest she might have developed in getting to know him in the future would be dashed the moment he related to her the news that Pan had dropped into his lap regarding Neal.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, trying to recover his wits.

"Your rum. I've never seen you take it out and put it back again without taking a drink. You act like someone spit in it when you passed it around today."

"Ah," he said, leaning back slightly as he shifted position, "well perhaps I've been a bit distracted."

A corner of her mouth quirked upward into the ghost of a smile. Gods, that smile. Even a fraction of it was dazzling in its brilliance. And worth more than all the treasure the giant had stored in his lair. "Is that a compliment?"

His heart skipped a beat. Was Emma flirting with him? No, it couldn't be. But then, hadn't she responded in kind to his flirting with that kiss earlier today? She had sworn it was a one-time thing, the implication being that it was solely as a thank you for saving David's life, but Killian had remained hopeful that it might develop into something more significant, whatever Emma insisted. Until Pan had appeared again, that is. Cursing the evil little shit in his mind, he steeled himself for what must be done.

"Don't take this the wrong way, love," he began, "but I've been having a think about something else." The soft smile evaporated, and his heart shuddered at the thought of what he must say next. "After you left, Pan appeared."

She stiffened visibly at the mention of her son's captor. "What did he want?"

He inhaled deeply. "He told me Neal is still alive, Emma. And he is here on this island."

Her expression became angry. "Is this about the kiss?" she hissed. "Are you playing games because you're angry that it was a one-time thing?"

"And what would I have to gain by such a thing?" he replied, remaining calm by sheer force of will, when all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and prove to her that the last thing he wanted to do was play games that would hurt her. "I'm telling you the truth."

"He's lying," she argued, taking another tack.

"No," he said, "I've known Pan a long time. He never lies. He might twist, bend, or mangle the truth in pursuit of his own goals, but he doesn't lie. If he says Neal is alive and on this island, then you can guarantee that he is."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Wouldn't you want to know?" he countered.

She was silent for a long time after that, staring into the fire as if her life depended on remaining riveted to this one small detail. Her expression was difficult to read, but Killian almost thought she looked frightened. "We have to get him back," she said at last, her expression never wavering from the fire for a moment.

"Aye," he answered, disappointed that she refused to look at him. The fact that he had expected Emma to distance herself from him all the more, to restore the walls he had been chipping at so relentlessly, did not make it hurt any less. "We will."


	2. Chapter Two

Emma crouched in the foliage, staring at the two cages that hung suspended from the canopy of trees above, waiting to take action. She hadn't slept a wink the night before, plagued by the tangle of thoughts and emotions that Hook's revelation had instigated. How could Neal possibly be in Neverland? Surely Hook had been mistaken; Pan had tricked him somehow, despite their past association, whatever it was. Neal couldn't be alive. It couldn't be him there in one of the cages. It couldn't, because she simply could not deal with that right now, on top of everything else. This had to be a trap. She had tried to convince Mary-Margaret and David of it, after she'd shared the startling information with them this morning. Pan simply wanted to trick them, to keep them going on a wild goose chase. It was a distraction, that was all. Something else to keep her from her son.

Surprisingly, Emma had found an ally in Regina in her assessment of the situation. Whatever their differences-and they were vast-on the point of rescuing Henry, they agreed. Henry needed to be their priority. Hook had, for reasons Emma could not fathom at all, sided with her parents. Neal was as familiar with Pan as he was, the pirate argued, perhaps more so. And he would therefore have valuable information and insights into Pan and his weaknesses. Neal, Hook insisted, was an ally they needed, if they wanted to recover Henry...even if it meant playing into Pan's game for a short time.

In the end, Emma and Regina could do little else but agree.

Irritated again at Hook siding against her-Just what the hell was he playing at with all of this, anyway?-she gripped the hilt of her sword more tightly. What insights into Pan could Neal offer that Hook already didn't? And why the hell wasn't she happier at the thought of being reunited with Neal? She loved him; she'd always loved him. As she had admitted to her parents in a moment of overwhelming emotion and stress, she had never stopped. So why didn't she want it to be him inside one of those cages? Neal loved her. She loved him. Now they might be reunited, if Pan's information to Hook had been accurate. They had the chance to start again with each other.

But did she want to start a relationship with Neal all over again? Emma pondered this question while she waited, mentally ticking off all the reasons she should consider giving him another chance. There were more than she'd thought there would be, for all the pain and bitterness she felt toward him. But were they enough to outweigh the negative points against him?

Leaving her alone and pregnant, serving the jail time that should have been his, and all on the say-so of a wooden puppet that was, by all story accounts, a well-known liar? That alone was bad enough, but-

Branches snapped and shifted as the dark-haired lost boy wandered into view. "All right, I'm here," he said with a sullen voice. "What do you want?"

Regina stepped directly in front of the boy, her smile predatory. "Well considering our location, I think you know exactly what we want. So get to it."

"Get it yourself, if you're so powerful," Devin sneered as Emma slinked forward into his view, her cutlass drawn. Mary Margaret stepped out of the brush behind the lost boy, her bow drawn, an arrow nocked and pointed straight at his chest. David and Hook appeared, too, flanking the boy with their own weapons drawn.

"And alert Pan to our plans?" Regina arched an eyebrow. "Oh surely you don't think we're that stupid," she retorted with a disdainful look. She reached into the pouch that held his heart. "Now, you can open those cages, or you can writhe on the ground in agony. Your choice," she said, holding up his heart with a smile that was downright macabre in its very brilliance.

The boy twisted slightly, eyeing all of them in turn. Birds chirruped overhead, competing with the insects for dominance of sound within the jungle. Emma smacked a bug crawling across her arm and waited for his answer.

"I'd do what she wants, if I were you, mate," Hook advised, as the boy's gaze settled on him in particular. "I understand she fed dozens of children to a blind witch just trying to retrieve an apple. Imagine what she'll do to you to retrieve her son."

Emma blinked. Where the hell had Hook heard that story? But even as she wondered, the answer was too obvious to ignore. Regina. She was the only one who could have told him. But when? And why? Frowning, she glanced from Hook to Regina and narrowed her eyes. When had they become buddies?

"If I do this for you and risk my life, I want something in return this time."

"No," Regina answered instantly, even as Mary-Margaret replied, "What do you want?"

The two women glared at each other over the boy's head.

"Absolutely not," Regina said emphatically. "I don't negotiate with the people who kidnapped my son."

"But if we can resolve this peacefully-" Mary-Margaret began.

"Oh save it!" the queen snapped. "This is Neverland, not the Enchanted Forest. Your cloying optimism and naive trust aren't going to work in your favor, here. These people may look like children, but they are savage killers. He is trying to trick us. This is a trap."

"Regina is right," Emma spoke up. "We have absolutely no reason to trust any of them."

"Well," the queen said caustically, "someone with sense. Maybe there's hope for you after all." She looked at Mary-Margaret. "Wish I could say the same for others."

Mary-Margaret's expression was affronted. "How dare-"

"Enough," Hook interrupted. He leaned against a tree, shadows obscuring the top portion of his face. "The more time that we waste arguing, the stronger Pan's hold over Henry grows." Silence greeted this assessment for several moments as they all realized the truth of his words. The buzzing of insects grew louder. He spoke again, "What do you say, Emma? What course do we plot?"

Conflicted, she glanced from Regina to Mary-Margaret. Although the queen's estimation of the situation made the most sense, given what they knew of Pan and his Lost Boys from their actions thus far, she hated to set the precedent for using dark magic, fear, and intimidation to get Henry back. And yet, there was a part of her, a part from her past that she tried to keep locked away, that would do anything to get Henry back. Even selling her soul to Pan himself, if that was what it took to gain Henry's freedom from Neverland.

To which part of herself should she listen?

"We're waiting, Savior," Regina snapped.

Ignoring her, Emma turned to Hook. "You know Pan and the Lost Boys better than anyone here. And I can tell by the way he looks at you, that you two have more than a passing familiarity with each other. What do you think?"

He scratched his chin with the tip of his hook. The gesture was casual, but Emma caught the way Devin's eyes widened slightly when he did it. "Hear him out," Hook answered. "If you don't like his terms, or you simply can't trust him, Regina can sort the situation out for us." He smiled brightly at the evil queen. "She's rather talented like that."

Frowning again, Emma looked from the queen to the pirate. "What do you want?" she said hoarsely, turning to the Lost Boy.

"A home," he answered.

"I thought you said that all the Lost Boys were here by choice," Regina said, placing a hand on her hip. She gazed at the boy with unguarded suspicion. "That each of you wanted to be here."

"We are," he answered. "But not all of us want to be here because we care for Pan's company."

Emma snorted. The idea that anyone could like Pan's company was so rich, it might have been hysterical under less dire circumstances.

"Go on," David encouraged, when Devin seemed hesitant to say more. "What's the real reason that you choose to be here?"

"Wendy," he whispered. "I stayed because of Wendy."

"As in...Wendy Darling?" Emma echoed. "Big-fan-of-Peter-Pan  _Wendy_?"

Devin shook his head. "No. More like the other way around. Promise that you will get Wendy and me off the island and give us a home, and I will do as you ask."

"May I  _remind_  you that you will do as we ask, anyway?" Regina said, crossing her arms. "You know, the whole crushing up your heart thing."

"Crush it if you like," he said, "but if you squeeze too much and kill me, Pan will know. And he will punish you, using Henry. That doesn't help you get those cages open, does it?"

"Boy," Hook said, "what are you playing at? What's your interest in this Wendy-girl? And why have I never heard of her before?"

The Lost Boy locked gazes with the pirate for a moment. "Will you do it or not?" he asked.

"We're hardly in any position to make promises about getting off the island when we can't do it without Pan's permission," David pointed out.

"Your Neal could get you off the island," the boy pointed out, looking at Emma. "I understand he's done it before. I free him, and you have the means to get off this island and take Wendy and me with you, after you rescue Henry."

"And just who is supposed to give you this home?" Emma wondered.

Mary-Margaret lowered her bow. "David?" she spoke up, looking at her husband. All eyes turned to the golden-haired prince.

His expression was startled. "I...well, uh-"

"I'll do it," Hook spoke up, shocking everyone. Emma stared. "At least until we return to Storybrooke, and they can find a more permanent family of their choosing."

"Why you?" David asked, recovering enough to speak again.

"Because we have a history together. I know him and what he's capable of." He looked at Devin with a hardened expression. "And he knows I don't need magic to make his life unpleasant if he double-crosses us." He lifted his hook to emphasize the point. "Do I, Tootles?"


	3. Chapter Three

"Tootles?" Emma echoed after a moment of stunned silence. Her brow furrowed as she absorbed this information, and she shook her head. Long, blonde hair swayed from side to side, and Killian's breath caught in his throat for a moment. Visions of that blonde hair being mussed in another heated kiss, or flung over heaving shoulders as he lowered her into his bed swam through his mind, and he shook his own head to clear it. Now was certainly not the time to indulge such fantasies.

Blinking rapidly, he managed, "Aye."

She groaned. "Unbelievable," she muttered as her parents moved closer to the lost boy and began speaking with him in low tones. Regina stalked over in hot pursuit, and Killian was glad for his own part that it was not a conversation in which he was involved. "Am I seriously the only one around here with a single, non-storybook identity?" She wiped at the beads of sweat on her forehead.

"No storybook identity? Are you sure about that, love?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps your story simply hasn't been told yet."

"Very funny," she glared.

He glanced over at Regina, Mary-Margaret, David, who were haggling over the final arrangements with the dark-haired lost boy. "He hasn't used the name for years," he offered. "Not since the magic left Neverland and warped Pan."

She tilted her head with a frown playing at the corners of her mouth. "Like you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know," she shrugged, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her trousers. Fascinated, he watched her movements with a keen eye, his mind edging back toward impossible, unfulfillable fantasy again. What would she feel like beneath his hand? Soft and warm, or hard and sultry? If he caressed her, would she-

"Your name," she continued, interrupting his thoughts again. "Killian. You don't use that anymore, either. "

He stared at her for a minute, conflicted. He wondered what he should tell her, or how much. Did any of it matter? In a matter of minutes, they would free Neal, and Emma's attention would be elsewhere. His life, his past...of what interest could it be to her after that?

It was for that reason, perhaps, above all others, that he said, "I always use my name, love. Just because I respond to "Hook" doesn't mean I favor the name."

Her green eyes glimmered with interest, and she took a step toward him. It was such a small step, he almost missed it. He wasn't even certain that she was aware of it, herself. He shifted against the tree he leaned against, uncertain.

"You don't like being called Hook?"

He considered the question, weighing it in his mind. "I suppose I did, once. For a long time, actually. The name reinforced my purpose in life, kept it at the forefront of my mind for three hundred years. And it took on a life and reputation of its own, which isn't a bad thing when you consider the role of villain that I'd taken on for myself. Saved me the headache of a lot of unnecessary fights when I had more important things to do as I plotted my revenge."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Mary-Margaret walked over and said breathlessly, "They're ready. Devin's going to open the cages."

"Oh. Thanks," Emma responded. "We'll be right over." She glanced over at him as Mary-Margaret returned to the others. "I-I guess we should, um..."

"After you, love," he said tonelessly, letting her fall into step in front of him. He followed, picking his way through the brush with care, one eye always scanning the area around Emma for any sign of Pan or his Lost Boys. He would gladly take an arrow and spare her the experience of being poisoned with the Dreamshade that her father had fallen victim to, if it would spare her the fate of being trapped on this godsforsaken island forever.

"All right," Emma said when they reached the others again, "so what's the deal? How do we get them open?" She tilted her head back, giving the cages a considering look.

"Magic," the lost boy answered. "That's what you need me for."

"I don't understand," Emma said. "Won't that draw Pan right to us? And why do we need you, then? Can't we just use Regina?"

"The cages require white magic to open them," Devin said with an expression that Killian knew was a shade too patient to be genuine. "Something your queen wouldn't know anything about."

Regina glared, and the lost boy smirked.

"So, what? Pan can't sense white magic or something? Why would the type of magic make any difference at all?" She glanced at Hook. "I thought you said all the magic left Neverland."

"Aye," he said, "it has. If Pan is using magic, he didn't get it from here. He must have another source, something that is not from this island." He gestured toward the two cages hanging above them, using his hook. "And I believe the answer to that source may be in one of those cages."

"None of this makes any sense," Emma protested. "We need white magic to open the cages, and Neverland is void of magic, but Pan just happens to have a source of magic to seal these cages to begin with?" She glared at Devin. "This smells like the worst kind of trap," she spat. "Regina, get his heart out! I want some real answers, and I want them now.

"Be happy to!" she responded with a bright smile, reaching for the satchel slung over her shoulders. "So. What shall we start with first?" she wondered conversationally. "A slow, steady squeeze, or a hard, crushing blow? I prefer the crushing blow, myself. What it lacks in finesse, it makes up for in results."

"This isn't a trap," the lost boy argued.

"Oh yeah?" David spoke up skeptically. "Then you had better start talking fast."

"It's Wendy," he muttered. "He gets the magic from her. That's part of the reason he's kept her around Neverland for so long. He makes her set the seal on the cages. He can't get in, because it isn't Neverland magic, but neither can anyone else. And it's white magic because that's all Wendy uses. She doesn't know any dark magic. Pan never lets her near anything that might corrupt her."

"I'm sensing a really sick and twisted backstory, here," Emma muttered. "If no one else can get in those cages because of the foreign white magic, how are you supposed to help? I thought you said you could open them."

"I can. Wendy trusts me. So does Pan. That's how I've been able to learn it from her. I'm not from Neverland, either. We knew each other in London, long before this all started. I was a friend of John's."

"As compelling as all this drama is," Regina interrupted sarcastically, "can we get started with all of this before Pan comes back and decides to move the cages? Or sends someone else to find out what happened to him?" She gestured toward the lost boy.

"She's right," Killian decided. Emma flashed him a strange look. "We'll have plenty of time to revisit the past aboard my ship, after we rescue Henry." He looked up at the cages, one of which held the man that had the power to take away his future, his hope, just after he'd discovered it again. He glanced at Emma. "Let's rescue your Neal."


	4. Chapter Four

Emma watched Devin approach the lowered cages, hoping they had not all fallen for some elaborate trap of Pan's. The last time she had seen Neal, he had fallen through a portal after sustaining a gunshot wound. She had thought him dead, and she had not even mourned him as she would have liked, amidst their mission to rescue her son. She felt guilty for that, and at the same time betrayed; he was not dead at all. Once again, Neal had hurt her, brought her pain. She knew it was unintentional. They had both assumed he would not make it; that was why they had so openly confessed their feelings to each other. But Emma wondered now if those feelings would be the same when she saw him face to face.

Devin knelt by the cage on the left. His actions were somewhat obscured from her vantage point, but from the way Regina watched him with laser precision as she hovered nearby, Emma knew that the evil queen was absorbing every word and action, probably as much to add the knowledge to her own magical repertoire as to ensure that he did not screw all of them over. And Hook, well...she doubted the Captain would suffer to see the lost boy deceive them either. She didn't know what to make of the veiled threats he had used to intimidate the lost boy, but she felt certain that, whatever his motives in taking charge of Devin and Wendy, she had the pirate's loyalty in helping her to recover her son.

The real question, of course, was why. What was his motivation? He had never shown any particular interest or concern for her son prior to Henry's kidnapping. Of course, Hook's entire focus after his arrival in Storybrooke had been on finding a way to wreak his revenge on Gold, but Emma found it difficult to imagine that Hook would have taken any real notice of her son if he had not been kidnapped. The pirate did not exactly strike her as the fatherly type. Still, what of this Milah person he had mentioned? They must have been serious, for him to have reacted the way he did when Emma had inquired about his tattoo. Had they never had any children?

Click. Emma felt the residual magic ripple through her as Devin unlocked the first cage and eased the door open. Nervous, she craned her neck to view the occupant inside, but the form that crawled out of the cage was taller, with much darker hair than Neal's. He wore a filthy, ragged shirt that Emma supposed might have been white many years ago, but was now only a dingy grey. His feet were bare, and the right knee of his black trousers had a long, uneven hole, as if he had ripped it on something sharp. If it had not been for the garish red belt he wore around his waist, Emma might have mistaken him for Neverland's resident homeless person.

Rubbing at his disheveled hair, the man's clear blue eyes lit up when he saw Hook. "Jones!" he cried, clapping the other pirate on the shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

"One might ask the same of you," Hook replied with a frown. "As I recall, I warned you to stay clear of the island and sail back the way you came, but it seems you didn't listen."

"Mermaids," the stranger said shortly. "Had to beach my ship, and a storm tore it apart on the rocks. Nowhere else to go but stay on shore."

"I gather you two know each other?" David said, looking from one to the other, as Devin began the process of opening the second cage.

"Yes," said the stranger, at the same time Hook replied, "Not especially."

"So which is it?" Mary-Margaret wanted to know. "And who are you?"

"Forgive me, my name is Eric," the man said with a formal bow that raised several eyebrows.

"Prince Eric?" Mary-Margaret said with a gasp, stepping forward. She circled the prince, staring at him as if she were seeing him in a new light. "Ariel's prince?"

"Ariel?" he echoed, looking at her sharply. "You know her?"

"Know her?" Mary-Margaret said with a delighted laugh, and a look of intense hope in her eyes. "We were friends. I was with her, I-"

Click. Magic rippled through Emma again, and she took a step backward as the door to the second cage swung open. Neal crawled out cautiously, looking disheveled, but not nearly as worse for the experience as Prince Eric. He straightened, taking in his surroundings, and noticed Emma. Before she could blink, she was engulfed in his strong arms, and he was saying things to her in whispered exclamations. Things she only half understood, but sensed to be affectionate and relieved.

"I'm glad you're alive," she managed, after he released her. Neal frowned, as if sensing that Emma did not wholly return his enthusiasm for their reunion. "How did you get here? We thought you were dead."

"Mulan and Aurora helped me," he said. "We traveled to my father's residence, and I used some of his things to travel here. I needed to get back to you and Henry."

"You were in the Enchanted Forest?" Mary-Margaret said. "How did you get there?"

"I'm not certain that I understand that myself," he admitted, "but I think it had something to do with my thoughts before I arrived there."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a long story," he said. "I would be happy to tell it you, but right now, we need to find a way to go get Henry."


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of long, but I needed to set up a few things for later on in the fic, as well as a tie-in story that I want to write, which takes place after Neverland, featuring Ariel and Eric. Thank you so much for your patience!

Killian watched with disgust and no small amount of jealousy as Neal swept Emma into an embrace.  _Why doesn't he just lift his leg and mark his bloody territory and have done with it?_  he thought darkly, turning away from the spectacle. Even as far back as he stood, Killian could see that Emma was uncomfortable with such an open display of Neal's affections. Was the man bloody blind, or did he simply not care?

He reached for his bottle of rum and noticed David eyeing him with a frown. Ignoring the prince, who seemed as if he wanted to say something, Killian took a drink as Eric stepped up beside him. "Tough break," the other man commiserated, nodding his head at the reunited couple. "Love isn't all it has cracked up to be."

Gods, were his feelings that bloody obvious to everyone?  _Pathetic, Jones_ , he berated himself, eyes sweeping the area. Thankfully, Regina and Mary-Margaret were conversing with Tootles again and had not noticed. For the moment.

He offered Eric a drink. "So it isn't."

Eric took the proffered drink and took a swig. "Good rum," he approved, handing the bottle back. Killian stored it away again. "So. What have you been up to since you left Neverland, Jones? Killed that crocodile yet?"

"No," he answered shortly. And though he had given it his best shot-quite literally, when he had shot Belle and knocked her over the town line, causing her to lose her identity for a time-his triumph over the crocodile had fallen flat.  _Forget love,_ he thought, _revenge isn't all it has cracked up to be, either_.

And it was this realization, perhaps, that had not only enabled him to let go of his mission to make Rumplestiltskin's life a living hell, but to now accept his loss of Emma with grace. If she wanted to be with Baelfire-or Neal, or whomever the hell he was now-he would conduct himself as a gentleman and stand aside. Why torture himself or her by pressing unwanted attentions upon her?

 _And Milah would want this_ , he thought. She would want to see her Baelfire happy as much as Killian wanted to see Emma happy.

"Well," Eric said, "perhaps that's for the best."

"My, haven't we turned philosophical since I last saw you," Killian taunted.

"The last time I saw you, you and your crew raided my ship and made off with all the rum."

He smirked. "We were out of rum. Turns out you weren't."

"Oh, come off it, Jones, you-"

"Boys, I hate to interrupt this little reunion," David said, stepping up next to them, "but I need to have a word with Hook."

Eric arched an eyebrow. Killian nodded in reply to the silent query and then followed the Prince further into the jungle.

"What's this about, then, Dave?" he said, cutting to the point. "Hadn't we better be planning to find Henry, with the others?"

The other man tossed him a sword. "Here, make yourself useful," he said, gesturing up at the fruit trees that surrounded them.

Killian sighed. Placing the blade between his teeth, he sank his hook into the trunk of one of the trees and used it to give him traction for the climb.

"Why did you do it? Why tell Emma Neal is alive when you want her so badly for yourself? What did you hope to gain from that?"

 _Bloody hell_ , Killian thought,  _I'm climbing a damned tree with a sword between my teeth, and Prince-Bloody-Charming, here, wants to talk about my intentions toward his daughter?_  He gave the prince a dark look, pulling himself farther up the tree toward the bright fruit.

"Perhaps," he said, removing the blade from his mouth when he found a branch that would support his weight while he harvested some of the food, "I hoped to gain satisfaction of showing good form. Pirates have their own code of honor, whatever you may believe, Dave."

"And it had nothing to do with your feelings for Emma?" David asked skeptically.

"I wouldn't say that," he said, tossing some of the fruit down toward David. The other man ducked, narrowly missing being hit by the fruit that went flying at his head. He picked it off the ground with a frown, placing it in the woven bag he'd brought with them. Killian chuckled to himself. "But I like the challenge of an even playing field," he said, selecting another bunch of fruit to harvest.

"You love her, don't you?" David said suddenly. "That's why you're doing all of this. Lending us your ship and coming with us to Neverland, saving my life, telling her about Neal...It all makes sense now."

Killian grimaced, glad that his face was obscured by the branches that surrounded him. "If it's all the same to you, mate, I'd rather just collect the fruit and get on with finding Pan, so we can get off this bloody island." He finished sawing through another bunch of fruit and tossed it down to the other man. "That should be enough. Any more, and it will spoil before we eat it all."

The prince was silent for a moment as he bagged the fruit. Hook placed the prince's blade between his teeth and began his descent down the tree. "I don't know what happened between Neal and Emma," David spoke up, "but she wasn't happy to see him. Whatever it was, it can't have been anything good, if she felt she needed to give Henry up for adoption." He shook his head. "As much as it pains me to say it, you, at least, seem to have her best interests at heart."

"Am I to take it that you are giving me your approval?" he replied sarcastically, landing lightly on his feet. He handed the prince his sword.

"No." David sheathed the weapon and hefted the sack of fruit over his shoulder. "I'm simply pointing out that you have the advantage."

 _What the bloody hell?_  Killian thought, but David had already disappeared along the trail back to camp. If the prince hadn't been giving his approval, what the hell was the point of the conversation they had just had? And advantage or not, there was an entire history between Killian and Milah's son that nobody, save the two of them, knew anything about. Making a play for Emma would surely force them to revisit that unpleasant past with a vigor.

"Save your breath, Davy-boy," he muttered to himself, picking his way through the brush that concealed much of the trail, and strengthening his resolve to stand aside for Milah's boy, "save your breath."

When he returned to camp a short time later, Killian found Regina, Neal, Emma, and David poring over Pan's map and speaking in low tones about the potential success of a raid, with Tinkerbell's help. _Raid?_  Killian thought with a snort, walking past them.  _Good bloody luck pulling that off and getting back out alive._  Neal echoed his thoughts with a vehement shake of his head, offering a counter plan whose finer points he didn't quite hear, but seemed to consist of drawing Pan away from the others to cut him off from any support and weaken him.

Killian, spying Mary-Margaret deep in conversation with Eric, leaned against a tree between the two groups. He wondered that it had not occurred to any of them yet to send a smaller group to retrieve Wendy and Tootles and take them back to the Jolly Roger, while the larger one dealt with Pan. Attempting to accomplish both objectives in one large group would be chaotic at best, and disastrous at worst. Better to send a one or two people to remove Wendy and Tootles from the others while Pan was distracted. Eric and Neal seemed the most likely candidates, as Pan wasn't yet aware of their release, but Neal was unlikely to agree to such a plan, and Killian couldn't blame him.

"...believe me," Snow was saying earnestly to a skeptical Eric," she wanted to go with you. But she hesitated because she was afraid you wouldn't accept her."

"Why not?" the dark-haired prince asked gruffly, his expression guarded.

Mary-Margaret opened her mouth as if she would have liked to explain, but then said, "I think she should tell you herself, when we get back to Storybrooke. But you need to know that she did try to meet you and tell you herself. She would have been there in time if Regina hadn't interfered."

Regina, looking up from the other group, huffed, "And why is everything my fault? True love finds a way, doesn't it?" she said with a sarcastic arch of her brow at David and Mary-Margaret. "At least that's what all heroes and sappy movies say. She had other means to get his attention. And were his legs broken that he couldn't go down to the harbor and look for her?"

"How do you know I didn't?" Eric said in a soft tone that immediately set Killian on alert. He straightened, stepping away from the tree, prepared to intervene with an appropriate distraction before it got ugly. If there was one person with the potential to rival him for a grudge, it was the usually-cheerful Eric.

"Because it is your fault," Emma spoke up suddenly from where she sat next to Neal.

 _Tell her lass_ , Killian thought with pride, admiring the fierce glare she'd fixed upon the evil queen.

"And how do you figure that?" Regina said with a tilt of her head. "You weren't even there."

"I think," David said in a reasonable tone, "that all of this squabbling won't get us anywhere. Whatever differences we have, we must set them aside until we rescue Henry and get off this island." He glanced at Killian. "Hook, what do you think about Neal's plan?"

He blinked as all eyes turned to him. He might have expected Emma to ask him for his thoughts on the matter, but not her father. "He's right. We need to draw Pan away from his source of support. One of us will need to be the lure." He shrugged. "But we can't realistically expect to keep our word to remove Wendy and Tootles from the island while we're fighting off Pan and a hoard of Lost Boys. Someone will have to separate from this group and take them to the Jolly Roger alone."

"I'll do it," Eric volunteered. "He won't expect me to be roaming the island. I can set off to retrieve her tomorrow, stow her on the ship, and come back for Tootles while everyone else is distracted with the fighting."

"Just so," Killian agreed with a nod.

"So who's going to be the bait?" Emma wondered.

"I will," Neal said with a troubled expression.

"Neal-"

"He won't expect me to be free, either, Em. And I've upset his plans before, so he won't want to simply send his Lost Boys after me and risk them bumbling it up. He'll want to deal with me himself." He laid his hand on top of one of her own. "Please, Em," he pleaded, "let me do this for our son."

"And I suppose I have no say in this even though I raised Henry by myself for eleven years?" Regina interrupted caustically. "Legally, neither of you have any claim to him."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Really Regina?" She tilted her head. "You're going to start this now?"

"Far be it for me to interrupt such a heartwarming familial discussion," Killian spoke up, "but hadn't we better save the boy before anyone fights for guardianship over him?"

"Hook's right," David said with a nod. "Neal, you and Hook know Pan the best. If you can draw him away from the Lost Boys, Mary-Margaret and I can help ambush him. The others can fend of the Lost Boys."

"I'm afraid not, mate," Hook disagreed. "You need someone with magic in the ambush. Regina's the strongest threat-and the most vicious, which is a trait we may need to defeat Pan. We can't afford to send anyone with a soft heart on the ambush."

"So who else do we send?" Mary-Margaret wondered, looking around the camp in turn.

"Me," he said simply. "Like Neal, I'm familiar with Pan and his tactics; and I'll not hesitate to strike at the bastard, giving Regina the advantage to do her worst while he is distracted. The rest of you can hold back the Lost Boys, buying us time to take care of Pan."

Emma glared at him from where she sat, clearly displeased about something. He arched a brow, inviting her to voice her objections, if he'd overlooked something important. She looked away, and David spoke again.

"It's settled, then. We turn in early tonight and get some rest; then tomorrow we put our plan into action and go get my grandson."

They broke into smaller groups again, Mary-Margaret resuming her conversation with Prince Eric, and Neal arguing with Emma in hushed tones, presumably about his role in their son's rescue, while David and Regina settled in for sentry duty. Snagging their water skins with his hook for a plausible excuse, Killian walked past all of them into the jungle. He needed to clear his head.

 _Tomorrow_ , he thought with a measure of relief,  _tomorrow it will be over. We rescue Emma's son and I'm free to set sail again after I return them home to Storybrooke_. He didn't have a particular destination in mind, but that bothered him not in the least. Part of the reason he had become a sailor, and eventually a pirate, was to explore the unknown and enjoy the spoils of other lands. After years of being forced to bide his time in Neverland and then the Enchanted Forest, all to exact revenge on his crocodile, it would be freeing to sail unknown waters again.

A branch snapped behind him. Killion's head snapped up, his hand immediately going for the hilt of his sword.

"It's me," Emma's familiar voice assured him.

He turned, watching her approach. Her long, golden hair feathered away from her shoulders in the slight breeze that she created while she walked. Inhaling with a shudder, he stepped back to make room for her near the stream. "Swan," he greeted her. "Come to have a nip of my rum? Everyone getting along that badly?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "They'll sort it out eventually. I wouldn't say no to a bit of your rum, though."

He handed the flask to her without a word. She tipped her head back to take a drink, showcasing a lovely expanse of neck. Killian felt his mouth go dry. What he wouldn't give to see it arched back in the throes of passion.

"You okay?" She handed the flask back with an arched brow.

He stored the flask again. "What really brings you out here, Swan?" he wondered, avoiding her question with one of his own.

She sighed. "I wanted to ask you about Eric. You seem to have an interesting history with him. Is he someone we can trust? Will he help us in our plan to rescue Henry, or should I worry that he is working for Pan?"

"A spy?" Killian shook his head. "Not likely. Pan made him watch while he tortured and killed members of his crew. I don't see him swearing allegiance after that."

"How do you know all this?" she wondered. "Were you there?"

"Not in enough bloody time," he answered shortly. "Tink got there first, after alerting us to his situation, but even as fast as she is, the Jolly Roger is unpredictable in a storm."

"I remember."

"Aye." He thought back to the storm they had encountered after their entry into Neverland waters, how he had almost lost her because of the damned mermaids stirring up trouble again. He swallowed with difficulty. "By the time my crew and I reached his vessel, a third of his crew had been murdered." He paused. "I surmise the rest perished after I left Neverland, when another storm broke his ship apart among the rocks, trapping him on the shores of Neverland. Bloody shame."

She watched him for several moments, absorbing this information. A corner of her mouth crooked into a smile. "He's right. You do know each other. You're friends, aren't you?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't tell him that," he answered uncomfortably.

"Why not?"

"We spent twenty-five years sailing Neverland's seas as rivals, trying to one-up each other in front of our crews. Old habits are difficult to break."

"Then why did you try to save him and his crew?"

"Where Pan is concerned, we've always been allies, " he admitted. "Sailors will always have each other's backs against a threat invading their territory."

"Twenty-five years," she murmured, a puzzled look on her face. "And my mother knew him...This was after Regina's curse, wasn't it?"

"Aye. The Prince didn't sail into Neverland until I'd been here with my crew for nearly three hundred years. Naive bastard." He shook his head, recalling the memory. "Didn't think he'd last, but he surprised me." He shrugged. "As for the curse, for some reason we were immune to it, being in Neverland when it struck. I didn't even learn about it until I returned to the Enchanted Forest, about three years before it was lifted."

"Where you joined forces with Cora," she said flatly, reminded of his long list of misdeeds.

"I joined forces with Cora because she had a reasonable chance of getting me to Rumplestiltskin to exact my revenge," he told her, stepping closer. He gazed down into her green eyes, willing her to see that he was in earnest. "Nothing more. You ignored your instinct up on that beanstalk and abandoned me. At least trust that I am telling the truth now," he pleaded. "We won't find Henry and save him if we don't trust each other."

She gazed into his eyes, as if searching them for some proof that would reassure her of the truth of his words. "I do trust you," she said quietly. Killian released a breath he had not even known he had been holding. "Thank you for all your help finding my son," she murmured.

"It's been a pleasure, love," he said sincerely.


	6. Chapter Six

_That's it?_  Emma wondered to herself as she walked back to camp.  _'It's been a pleasure'?_  No flirting? No trying to talk her into another kiss? She frowned, trying to puzzle out this sudden shift in behavior. Where was Captain Innuendo? She was comfortable with  _him_. She even  _enjoyed_  the verbal sparring. But she didn't know how to respond to this serious, sincere side of the pirate.

Pushing aside a tangle of leaves, Emma entered the camp again and looked around. Mary-Margaret and David huddled together, their hands intertwined, talking softly, while Neal and Regina sat alone on opposite sides of the fire. Seeking out the dark-haired prince, she spied Eric sitting much farther away, at the edge of the firelight.

Emma felt Neal's eyes follow her as she walked over to Eric.

"I'm sorry about your son," Eric said as she sat down next to him.

"Thank you," she said with a surprised smile.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't feed a mermaid to that twisted bastard," he said in a harsh voice.

Emma blinked several times. "You...don't like mermaids?"

"Hate every blasted one of them," he nodded. "Nothing but a torment to my crew from the beginning. Finally destroyed my ship and what was left of my crew after Jones left Neverland."

 _That's going to put a damper on his relationship with Ariel when he finds out_ , Emma thought, recalling the snatches of conversation she had heard between Eric and Mary-Margaret earlier, while Neal had tried to draw her into conversation.

"I'm sorry about your crew," she returned.

"My thanks."

"So. You and Hook are rivals, huh?" she said, searching for another topic.

He laughed, his black mood dissipating. "Is that what he told you?"

"It's not true?" she wondered. Had Killian lied to her? She hadn't felt an untruth from him.

"True enough, at the beginning. But we learned to respect each other after a while, and the only rivalry that's existed since is a product of his own pride and ego."

"Yeah, that definitely sounds like him."

He grinned. "Same old Jones. Never changes much."

"You'd be surprised," she said in a thoughtful tone.

"Oh?" Eric raised a brow, a mischievous gleam in his ice-blue eyes.

"Nothing," she backpedaled, kicking herself.

He flashed her a wide smile. "The rather becoming blush to your cheeks tells me otherwise," he disagreed amiably.

"You just want ammunition to use against him," she accused with an amused smile, "so you can entertain yourself by tormenting him."

"Hmm," he said, glancing away, "I suppose you're right."

Emma followed his gaze and saw Killian walking back into camp with the refilled water skins. A mischievous impulse took over, and she raised her voice just enough for the pirate to hear as he passed by, "Now that I think of it, Eric," she said, shooting him a significant look, "I do remember him refusing a drink from his own flask of rum the other day."

Eric's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "That's not changing," he said with a conspiratorial wink for their shared entertainment, "that's time to call the physician."

"Funny," Killian grumbled, setting the water skins down by their packs. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll just have a chat with Regina about that jackass curse," he shot back, "the one that gives you ears and a tail. May as well look your part," he smirked.

Emma watched him retreat and settle next to the evil queen, frowning. Why was he so chummy with Regina of late? she wondered.

Eric followed her gaze. "You know," he said in a low tone, turning back to her, "it's not wise to lead a pirate on. Best not to raise his hopes if you haven't any intention of following through."

"I'm not leading him on," she hissed.

"No? I see the way you react to each other. He'd walk the plank into shark infested waters if you asked him to. Best to pull away now before it hurts him and ruins your relationship with Neal."

"Neal?" she whispered, making a face, "I'm not with Neal."

"No?" he said with a glint in his eyes.

"No," she confirmed with a shake of her head. "We haven't been together since before our son was born. He didn't even know Henry existed until several weeks ago."

"Ah," he said thoughtfully. "He behaves rather..."

"Presumptively?" she sighed. "I know. It's...he has reason to hope," she admitted with a rush of guilt. "I don't... I just want to get Henry right now."

"We will," he assured her with a sympathetic look. "Of that I am certain."


	7. Chapter Seven

Killian arose before dawn the next morning to prepare, stepping past his slumbering companions to retrieve the whetstone from his satchel. He sat down on a large boulder and tested the blade of his sword against his thumb. Frowning at its dullness, he picked up the whetstone and began to sharpen the blade in the predawn light, debating with himself whether to sharpen his hook as well, or to leave it dull and inflict more pain on Pan.

Eric stepped up next to him just as he'd decided to sharpen the hook in favor of being able to wound easier. "A word, mate, before I leave?"

"I'd say that's quite a few words already," he retorted out of habit. "What do you want?"

Eric raised a brow. "Is this how you talk to all your old acquaintances? Or just the ones who got sauced and blew a hole through the hull of your ship one night?"

"Another reason to come steal your rum," Killian groused, remembering the boom that had shaken his ship and startled him out of his wits just as he had been falling into an uneasy slumber. That particular incident set them back considerably from the uneasy friendship they had been edging toward, and it had almost been something of a relief to renew their rivalry in earnest. Even now, as the prince reminded of him of it, Killian felt a flare of anger on behalf of his ship.

"You stole my rum  _three years_  later, and then sailed the hell out of Neverland before my crew and I could retaliate!"

"Well, I never said that was my primary motivation for stealing your rum." Killian looked up with a grin. "Call it an amusing bonus. I  _did_  advise you leave Neverland, as you'll recall."

Eric's eyes narrowed. "And I'm supposed to believe that was the reason for invading my ship, rather than having the last laugh in our rivalry?"

Killian shrugged. Was there a reason it couldn't be both? he wondered. He was not about to point that out to the prince, however, if he chose to think otherwise.

"Look, Jones," the prince said, "you can't deny that over the course of our acquaintance, we've had each other's backs more often than not."

"Well, I  _could_ ," Killian muttered with a sardonic edge to his voice, "but that might take longer than this bush you insist on murdering by blunt force. Your point, Highness?"

"I spoke with Emma last night."

"So I noticed," he answered, pausing to examine his blade with a critical eye. "By the way, what say I treat you to a drink when we get back to Storybrooke? Make up for that nasty business about the rum?"

"So you can slip that curse into my drink? No thanks."

"Your suspicious nature wounds me," Killian retorted, feigning innocence. "Can't two old rivals sit for a drink with one another without anything underhanded afoot?"

"Killian," the other man said in a serious tone, ignoring the question.

He looked up, surprised at Eric's use of his given name. When had the other man even learned it? He didn't rightly remember. Perhaps one of his old crew had let it slip after too much rum. "What do you want?"

"Emma," the other man said, causing Killian's heart to pulse with jealousy. "She is not reconciled with Henry's father."

It took Killian a moment to register that Eric had no romantic designs on Emma after all. Jealousy gradually dissipated, and he looked at the prince with suspicion. "What do you mean by telling me that?"

"Because we're both sailors at heart, and we believe in good form," he replied after a slight hesitation. "Watch your back today, Jones," he said by way of retreat, "Pan wasn't at all pleased by your absence all these years."

Killian watched him disappear into the jungle, mulling over the strange conversation. First David, now Eric. Had everyone gone bloody mad at once? Perhaps this was Pan's doing. The evil shit loved his mind games, after all. What better way to get to him, than to influence his peers to push him toward Emma-the very person he had recently challenged Killian to be honest with. Was he now seeing the result of his defiance toward Pan?

"You look lost." He looked up, startled from his thoughts. Emma hunkered in the dirt next to him, her expression pensive, but mildly curious. "In your thoughts, I mean." She looked away, and Killian admired the faint rosy hue to her cheeks, helpless to do otherwise. "I saw you talking to Eric," she continued, looking at him again. "I didn't want to interrupt, it seemed like a serious conversation." She peered toward the path the dark-haired prince had taken through the jungle before disappearing, her expression anxious.

"He'll not betray us, Emma," he reassured her with a gentle tone. "Eric is one of the few people to whom I'd entrust my life."

"I know," she answered, glancing at him in surprise. "I believed you. That's not what-" She inhaled, her gaze shifting downward. "Listen," she began, "can we-"

"Emma." They looked up. Neal stood a few feet away, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. "Can I have a word? If you're not too busy?"

She looked at Killian, her expression reluctant. He nodded at her. "All right," she sighed, rising to her feet. "But make it quick. I need to prepare my own gear, and the others will be up soon, too." She walked over to the other man, and they set off in the opposite direction. Neal placed a hand on her shoulder blade, guiding her into the more private reaches of the jungle.

He watched them go, sharpening his hook with quick, angry precision. A knot of jealousy cinched itself ever more tightly in the pit of his stomach. It was irrational, he knew, because he had decided for himself to step back, to allow Emma to reconnect with Neal and rekindle a relationship with him if she desired. But jealousy set his belly aflame nonetheless, and he couldn't suppress the impulse to glance from time to time toward the area of the jungle to which they had retreated.

Killian finished, eyeing the metal appendage critically. He glanced toward the jungle again. Frowning, he leaned over and picked up Emma's spare weapon, a dagger that lay abandoned on top of her pack. The least he could do was save her some time when she returned from whatever was taking so bloody long to discuss with Neal. He tested the blade on his thumb and then set to work sharpening the weapon, unaware that he handled it with far more care and focus than he had shown to any of his own, but determined that Emma would meet Pan with every advantage of protecting herself that he could muster. Her son was counting on her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And that's the last we'll see of Eric until they're ready to head back to the Jolly Roger, so I hope you enjoyed the scene with him. I might flashback to his role in Neverland during his tie-in fic with Ariel, after they get back to Storybrooke, but I haven't decided yet. All I know is that I am really chomping at the bit to write that one. Eric and Ariel have always been favorites of mine, and I'm dying to give my own take on their relationship. But there's a planned sequel to this fic that I may need to write first, depending on how I decide to order events. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)


	8. Chapter Eight

Emma shrugged Neal's hand away as they moved into the jungle, and her hand moved to the hilt of her sword, serving as a convenient excuse to disdain the unwanted contact. Increasing her pace, she moved through the brush ahead of him, pushing leaves out of her path and hacking through vines as necessary. She knew by instinct that whatever Neal wanted to speak with her about right now had nothing to do with their son, and everything to do with their previous declarations of love for each other. It was  _not_  a conversation that she wanted to have the morning of her son's rescue, with a battle against Pan looming in her near future.

It wasn't a conversation she wanted to have at all. Ever.

Neal had forced the issue, however, and Emma had chosen to get the uncomfortable talk out of the way rather than rebuff him in favor of the conversation she had started to initiate with Killian. Not that that particular conversation would have been exactly comfortable, and yet...it hadn't filled her with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Killian, she sensed, would respect the fact that she was not ready to sort out her feelings and begin a relationship with  _anyone_  until they rescued her son and got the hell out of Neverland, at the very least; Neal, she was almost certain, would not. He seemed to take it for granted that, well, that they were already in a relationship.

Nothing could be further from the truth, so far as she was concerned.

"I suppose this is good enough," she said with a sigh, halting in her tracks. She turned to face Neal with reluctance. "So talk," she told him, far more bluntly than good manners warranted.

He shifted, his expression uncertain. "Emma," he began, "what's wrong? You have been acting irritable, on edge. It's not like you."

_How the hell would you know what I'm like?_  she thought resentfully.  _You left me eleven years ago, pregnant and sentenced to a jail cell_. Did he really think that she hadn't changed over the years, that she was some static, idealistic, head-over-heels-in-love-with-him young girl after all this time? Particularly after what she had been through, been forced to endure by his own high-handed decision to entrust her fate to Pinocchio rather than remaining by her side to help her break the curse?

"Yeah, well, this place does that," she answered instead. "But I'm hardly the same person you knew eleven years ago, Neal."

"I can see that."

_Can you?_  She wondered. Did he have any idea, any real idea at all of the damage he'd caused, the pain he'd inflicted? The cynicism and distrust he had sowed in her by his actions? Neal had expectations of her, based on a past that was long gone. Would he ever be able to shake them, to start fresh, if he truly wanted a relationship with her? She wasn't certain of that, any more than she was certain whether she would ever be able to truly trust him and be vulnerable with him again.

"Look, Em," he said, "I know you're worried about Henry; we all are. But something else is going on. Why won't you tell me what it is? We used to talk about things. Now you're closed off, like we aren't even friends."

"Perhaps you should have thought about that before you abandoned me on that beanstalk," she muttered.

The sarcastic reply left her mouth before it even registered with her brain, and Emma wondered where in the hell it had come from. A rush of sympathy and understanding for Killian's bruised feelings after her abandonment of him washed over her, followed by guilt. She had done the only thing she could have done in such a situation, and yet...she could see now how it might have rankled with him, made him bitter and resentful toward her for a time, as she was now bitter and resentful toward Neal. But they had somehow managed to move past such hurt feelings, while she seemed stalled in her forgiveness of Neal.

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Look," she said, brushing aside the beanstalk comment as if it had never been uttered, "this place is making all of us crazy. This is not the time to deal with...whatever is between us. The only thing I want to do is get Henry back and go home. Then maybe gorge on something really unhealthy with him, like ice cream. I've had about all the fruit and fish and nuts I can stand." She shook her head at the tangent, steering the conversation back on course, "The point is, you seem to be presuming a lot of things about us, and expecting things I simply can't deliver right now. Maybe never. I don't know."

His expression shifted from concern to confusion. "I don't understand. Before I fell through the portal, I thought we made our feelings clear for each other." He took a step toward her, and Emma backed away, almost without realizing it. "Do you love me, or don't you? Why did you say it if you didn't mean it?"

"I don't know," she moaned, out of frustration. "I thought you were going to die."

"So you said it out of pity?" The hurt in his eyes was palpable, and Emma looked away guiltily. "To spare my feelings because you thought I was going to die?"

"No!" she shouted. "It wasn't like that. Of course I love you, Neal! I have never  _stopped_  loving you, and that is the damn problem, okay? I didn't lie to you. But...things are different now."

"Different how?" His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Is there someone else, Em?"

"Maybe," she admitted quietly.

Understanding lit in his eyes, and his expression became more pained. "I knew it. I tried to tell myself I was imagining it, but I see the way you're always laughing and smiling with him; how you go out of your way just to talk with him. I can understand the attraction," he admitted with reluctance, "he's handsome and charming enough, but don't you think this is...rather sudden? You've only just met him, Emma."

She blinked. "What?"

"Eric."

"I-I don't love Eric," she stuttered, caught off guard.

"It's not Eric?" he echoed skeptically. "Then who? There's no one else but-" His eyes widened with sudden realization. " _Him?_  You want  _him_ , Emma?" his voice crescendoed. "He stole my mother away from my father and wrecked my parents' marriage! And then he apparently spent hundreds of years trying to kill my father!  _That's_  who you want?"

"Unless he hit her over the head and dragged her back to his cave, I hardly think he was the only party to blame," she fought back with vehemence, surprised to hear herself taking up for Killian when she knew full well and good that his actions had been wrong. "If your mother was willing to abandon her marriage so easily, I think that rather points to some existing problems before Killian showed up."

"Killian? He's  _Killian_  now?"

"Yes," she glared. "That is his name. And neither of us are such saints ourselves that we have any right to forever condemn him for his transgressions." She sighed. "But none of this is about him, Neal. It's about us. It's about the fact that you got me pregnant and abandoned me to rot in a jail cell by myself, which is bad enough-"

"I didn't know you were pregnant," he whispered.

"Yes," she admitted, "but that doesn't change the fact that I was. Nor does it change the fact that you left me, based on nothing more than the word of someone who is, by all literary accounts, a well-known liar. You could have fought for me, tried to find a way to stay with me and help me break the curse when it was time, but you didn't. And I think we both know why." She gazed up at him, catching his eyes with her own. "You were running from your father, from magic."

She held up a hand as he tried to protest. "Don't. You admitted as much when we met each other in New York again. You said you never would have gotten involved with me if you had known who and what I was. What's more, for something that you called a mistake, something that you regret, you didn't bother to come find me in Storybrooke after the curse broke and repair the damage. You found someone else and got engaged to her. You never had any intention of ever contacting me again. And then," she said, her voice rising several octaves, "and then you accused me of jealousy when I sensed Tamara wasn't all she claimed to be, and you told me that you never believed in my ability to detect lies. And now you want me to trust you, to jump into a relationship with you again?" She paused, fighting to catch her breath. "Why," she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek, "just tell me why I should ever give you another chance?"

"Because that's what true love does," he answered after a moment of heavy silence. "It overcomes all obstacles, even what seems impossible."

"But I didn't grow up in a fairytale land like the rest of you, Neal," she pointed out somberly. "And I just don't believe in things like that." She shrugged. "Maybe that's part of the impossible that we have to overcome. Or maybe we aren't true loves at all. I don't know. And this is not the time or the place to figure any of this out. I am here for  _Henry_ -not you, and not Killian. When we get back home, maybe...after I've had some time with Henry...I can sort out what I feel. But it will be on  _my_  time, Neal, in a manner of my choosing, not yours." She swallowed. "Or his." She pushed past him, stalking through the brush, "So let's cut the crap, stop wasting time, and go get our son."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, thank you to everyone who is reading this fic. I hope you have been enjoying it. This chapter is very long, as it's composed of three major events that drive the plot toward its conclusion, so you might want to get a cup of your favorite beverage and settle in someplace comfortable for the ride.

Killian ignored the whispers and activity of his companions while they made all the preparations with their weapons and supplies that he had already finished for himself and Emma. Shifting on the rock he sat upon, he removed the flask of rum from his person. He eyed it thoughtfully, wondering if he should have passed it to Eric before he had left. It might have made up in a very small way for his theft of all the prince's rum so many years ago (a matter which the prince still seemed inclined to hold over his head, even in jest) and solved his own dilemma besides.

_A one handed pirate with a drinking problem_ , he thought to himself with bitterness.

Pan's words still haunted him. That they contained a kernel of truth was unbearable to think about, and yet...with Pan, there was always some truth beneath the layers of lies and deception. Hadn't he resolved to stop drinking the rum-actually put it away without tasting a drop-when he had revealed to Emma that Neal was still alive and somewhere on Neverland? But it hadn't been long after Neal was freed that he had resorted to the familiar drink without a second's thought about it. Had occasional indulgence become unbreakable habit?

He glanced down at his hook, glinting in the early morning sunlight. Though he bore a grudge against the crocodile for taking his hand and his love, Milah, even these hundreds of years later, it had been some time since he had missed the use of his other hand. The hooked appendage had proved itself to be quite useful in captaining the Jolly Roger, as well as striking fear into his enemies and building up an infamous reputation that far exceeded any actual villainy he'd committed planning his revenge.

And it wasn't a bad weapon to have in a tight spot, either.

But useful as it was, his hook was not a hand, designed for caressing and comfort. It was made for ripping, slashing, pulling...but none of the things that Killian most wanted to do with Emma. And though he had another hand with which to hold her, he wondered if it would have been enough, even if he had continued to pursue her. The contrast between his hook and his solitary hand was a fitting symbol for the two halves of his person, he decided; the menacing pirate, Captain Hook, and the earnest sailor, Killian Jones. Could one man be both, or must both sides always be at war with one another?

"Give any more thought to what we talked about, earlier?" a voice asked in a low tone.

Killian looked up in confusion and found David standing next to him.  _Perhaps I would have, if I had ever figured out what the bloody hell you were driving at_ , he thought with irritation. Instead, he answered, "Not particularly."

David's eyes widened slightly, and he looked genuinely surprised. "Why not?"

"Situation's a bit more complicated than you're aware of, I'm afraid."

The other man frowned, as if he were trying to puzzle something out. "So you're not going to fight for her? What happened to being here for Emma, to doing things for her benefit?"

Killian shot David an exasperated look. "What do you think I'm doing, here, mate? I didn't volunteer to make myself an easy target in the ambush because I enjoy Pan's witty banter. What's it to you, mate?"

"Everything," David answered. "She's my daughter. Her happy ending is everything to me, mate."

He blinked in surprise. It was the first time the prince had used the term "mate" without sarcasm or rancor. The novelty of it was such that it distracted him for several moments from the real meaning behind the prince's words. When it filtered through his brain, his heart almost stopped. David thought there was a real chance that he might be Emma's happy ending?

Hope sparked in him again, fighting against the dark regrets he'd had in his relationship with Baelfire for hundreds of years. He couldn't turn back the clock to change the past. The ill feeling that lay between him and Baelfire wouldn't easily dissipate, regardless of whether he pursued Emma or not. A bit foolish, he realized, to think that it would have. His issues with Milah's son, while they might be exacerbated by his romantic interest with Emma, must be settled separately; Emma should not be caught in the crossfire and used as a shield to avoid confronting the past, nor as a weapon through which they settled their differences. It would be bad form.

_A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets_. His own words came back to haunt him, unbidden, and he barked a short laugh."Take this," he told the prince, thrusting the flask of rum into his hands with a renewed resolve to prove himself to Emma and win her affections fully.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I," he admitted, "but I'd like to keep my head clear today, just the same." He grinned at the other man and winked, unable to keep from baiting him by tacking on, "Papa."

David rolled his eyes with a groan. "Don't make me regret this, Hook."

"Regret what?" Mary-Margaret wondered, walking up to them. "Is Emma back yet?"

"No," David began, "but-"

Brush rustled behind them, and Emma emerged, her expression agitated, followed by Neal, who looked as if he had just been keelhauled. Whatever had transpired between the ex-lovers, it hadn't been good. Killian looked away, selfishly pleased by this turn of events.

Emma paused by the other travel packs, staring at the ground in confusion as she searched for her own among them. Leaning over, Killian picked up her satchel and dagger and walked over, handing them to her without a word. He felt Neal's eyes tracking him, and spared a brief glance for the other man, whose expression was thunderous, before turning back to Emma. Apparently the competition for her heart was not to be one-sided.

Her green eyes lit with surprise as she surveyed the weapon's keen edge. "Thank you," she said with a slight smile.

He shrugged. "Thought it might save a little time, so we can avoid more...unnecessary delays in rescuing your son."

She glanced back at Neal as he said this, and sighed. "I'm not sure it was unnecessary." Pulling the satchel across her shoulder, she stowed the dagger in a sheath at her belt. "Anyway, none of that matters now. It's time to get Henry."

"Aye," he said, handing her the whetstone he had used to sharpen his own weapons, "that it is. Best make your final preparations, lass. Once we find Pan, there's no going back for any of us. Not this time."

* * *

They traveled in silence most of the morning, with Emma taking the lead as she read the map that would lead them to Pan. Killian flanked her, surveying the land he unfortunately knew so well, scouting out hidden dangers that might lie in wait, while Neal, David, and Mary-Margaret followed next, Regina covering them from behind. The island was disturbingly still today, the insects and birds punctuating the silence only rarely, and Killian couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that had been building in him since they had set out earlier. Was Pan aware that they were coming? Had Tootles sold them out, after all?

He glanced at Emma out of the corner of his eye from time to time, wondering if he should give voice to the feeling that nagged at him. He didn't want to worry her needlessly or seem paranoid. And what could she really do to take precaution against a vague feeling of unease that mostly likely stemmed from apprehension at what they were about to attempt, anyway?

Agitated, he was relieved when they reached their prearranged spot to meet Tink, and David finally suggested that they take a break to refresh themselves. With no sign of the fairy yet, Killian pressed his lips together, worried. What could be keeping her? Had Pan discovered that she was helping them, and taken her hostage? The thought that the evil little bastard might hurt his longtime friend-or worse-made him feel nauseated.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Killian spied Emma rolling up the map without a word. Grateful for the distraction from his dark thoughts, he considered approaching Emma, keen to reassure her and see the worry that was etched into her face evaporate for a few moments. As she stowed the map in her satchel, however, Neal wasted no time closing the distance with his ex. Annoyance flashed across her face, and Killian retreated with a smirk.  _Give the man enough rope_ , he thought,  _he'll hang himself without my lifting a finger_. He regretted though, that Emma's spirits would only be weighed down all the more by the ugly conversation that already seemed to be ensuing between the ex-lovers.

_Ex_ , he thought with a smile. The word had never sounded so good to him. David had tried to tell him, he recalled, and Eric had all but hit him over the head with it this morning. But he'd been too disappointed, retreating instinctively behind his own set of walls, to see their reunion for the unhappy one it had really been, rather than Emma simply being uncomfortable with open affection.

She  _wasn't_  comfortable with it, of course, that much had been very plain to him from the beginning-but then, she wasn't comfortable accepting anyone's affections to begin with. That, he decided, he would do his best to change. Slowly, he suspected-perhaps agonizingly so-but the reward of her returned affections would more than be worth it, if he could earn them.

Buoyed by these thoughts, he walked toward the others, giving Emma further privacy to argue with Neal.

Mary-Margaret had settled on the ground beneath two banana trees, and David sat next to her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Killian felt a pang of longing and looked toward Emma, unable to stop himself.  _Patience, Jones,_  he told himself.  _We're not out of Neverland yet. And she'll want to spend some time with the lad, first_.

"Well, isn't that sweet?" Regina said sarcastically, following his gaze. She rolled her eyes, and Killian frowned."If you can pry your eyes off your girlfriend for a minute, I'd like your help with something, pirate." She crooked a finger at him. "Follow me."

"What is it?" he asked warily, joining her a short distance away from the others.

"I want to make sure Pan is where we think he is. I don't like surprises, and I'm not about to let my son slip through our fingers again."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

She reached into her own pack and retrieved a small, oval frame with onyx colored glass set in the center of it. "With a dark mirror," she answered. "But if I'm going to get it to work, I need someone with ties to Neverland to help me. Since Neal's too preoccupied trying to browbeat Emma into loving him again," she said with an exasperated sigh, "that leaves you."

"Not exactly, dearie," a familiar male voice intoned.

Killian looked up, startled, as the familiar form of Rumplestiltskin appeared out of the brush for all the world as if he had appeared out of thin air.

Tink emerged behind him with a triumphant smile. "Look who I found." She walked over to join their little group, peering at Regina's mirror with interest. "Is that a dark mirror? You sure you want to use it here, Regina?"

"Do we have another choice?"

"That depends," Rumple said, glancing from Tink to Regina. "Would you like risky or suicidal?"

"What does the dark mirror do?" David asked, drawing Mary-Margaret up beside him as he joined the conversation.

"Isn't it supposed to let you see the past, or-or communicate with the dead?" Mary-Margaret said with an apprehensive expression. "What do you want that for?"

"Because it will let us know where Pan is hiding," Rumple answered for the evil queen. "We can watch all of his recent actions, see what the layout is, how many Lost Boys are with him-"

"Just what we need to lay the perfect trap," Emma breathed from behind him, her expression hopeful. Neal hovered behind her, his expression sober, but determined. He glared at Killian, who returned the greeting with a cheeky wave of his hook.

"Why didn't you tell us about this mirror before, Regina?" Emma's expression had clouded over, her gaze suspicious. "If it will help us find Henry-"

"Miss Swan," Rumple interrupted, "surely you recall by now that all magic comes with a price, hmm?" When she didn't answer, he continued, "As it happens, this particular mirror comes with a hefty one. So," he smiled without humor, "perhaps you understand why the Queen has been reluctant to make use of it until now. It is not something to use lightly."

Emma sighed, shoulders drooping with disappointment, her expression tired. "So what's our other option, then?"

"We visit the mermaids and ask them to scry for us," Rumple offered. "Their information will be from the present, and easier to understand, rather than trying to interpret disjointed bits of past events." He paused, tilting his head to the side. "Of course, Neverland's mermaids aren't real fond of humans, and they're as like to kill us before we can bargain for their help as anything else. Take it from me, dearie, the mirror is our best option."

She eyed Rumplestiltskin skeptically for a moment. Her eyes slid over to Killian's, her gaze questioning. He shook his head in answer to her silent query. Mermaids, as he and Eric had plenty of cause to know, weren't worth the risk involved.

"Neal? Regina?" she tried.

"Obviously, I favor the mirror," the queen snorted.

"We're taking a chance either way," Neal pointed out sensibly. "If we use the mirror, we risk misinterpretation of what we see, but if we approach the mermaids for more accurate information, we're likely to end up fish food." He shook his head. "I vote for the mirror."

Emma frowned. "What kind of price does the mirror require?" she asked Rumplestiltskin.

"Those who seek to look into the past will lose a piece of it," Rumple answered. "The dark mirror steals it from you. It could be a painful memory, or an important one, or something with great influence in your life, but it will be erased from your mind as if it never happened."

Killian fixed his steely gaze on Regina. "And you were going to require me to aid you in this without telling me?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she retorted in a bored tone. "I'm the one who will work the mirror and pay the price. I just need the blood of someone tied to Neverland, so we can locate Pan on this island." She looked from Neal to Killian to Tink. "Any volunteers?"

Neal stared at the mirror with a deep frown, his expression conflicted. Killian started to open his mouth, but Tink stepped forward instead. "I'll do it," she said. "I have the strongest connections to Neverland of all of us. Perhaps it will help you to discern better, Regina." She looked at the queen with a smile. "For your son."

"Prick your finger," Regina instructed, handing the fairy a needle she had procured from her satchel. "That's it," she agreed, watching a bead of red blood well up on the fairy's fingertip. "Now press your finger to the mirror."

The fairy complied, and the mirror's surface melted beneath her fingertip, absorbing the blood greedily. Surprised, Tink drew back her finger with a soft "Oh!" The drop of blood swirled and spread through the mirror's liquefied surface in ever widening ripples. Regina lifted it level with her eyes and closed her eyes, muttering the spell necessary to utilize the mirror's properties. The mirror glowed a soft red in response, and the queen opened her eyes and began to watch.

Uncomfortable, Killian shifted where he stood. The sense of foreboding he'd been experiencing was expanding, and he glanced at his companions. They each watched Regina, still as statues, waiting for news. None of them seemed uneasy in the least.

"Pan moved this morning," Regina said suddenly, lowering the mirror. She stowed it away and frowned. "He's about five miles east of where we intended to ambush, but the general area is the same." She looked at Emma. "He set traps, so be careful."

"I can take care of that," Mary-Margaret said with confidence. "I've set a number of those myself. I know what to look for."

"All right," Emma decided, "Mary-Margaret, you and Tink lead our group through the jungle, then. Between the two of you, we ought to stand a good chance of avoiding anything that might ruin our plan and give away our approach. We split up now and veer around their camp from opposite sides. Neal distracts Pan for us, and then you and Regina go in for the kill," she finished, her eyes meeting Killian's.

"Aye," he nodded.

"Gold-" she hesitated.

"I go where my son goes," he told her pointedly.

"No," she shook her head. "We created this plan with the idea that Neal can draw Pan away from the others because he would be the biggest perceived threat, having escaped Neverland before. If Pan sees you, that might ruin everything. You come with us."

"Miss Swan-"

"If you wanted a say in our strategy, maybe you should have stuck around," Emma grated out, her expression hard. "Don't expect to come back now and disrupt our plans for the hell of it."

"Listen to her, Papa," Neal told him, turning toward his father. "This is the best way. Besides, they'll need you to protect Henry while they fend off the horde of Lost Boys."

The appeal to Rumple's ego seemed to work, for he emitted a heavy sigh. "All right. But do be careful, Bae."

"I will," he assured Rumple, stepping forward to hug his father.

"Let's go, then," David announced, glancing up at the sky. "We still have some distance to travel, and those traps will be harder for Snow to spot in the dark. We'll wait for Neal to approach the camp and draw Pan away before we attack."

Regina glanced at Neal, and they waded into the brush together without a word, while the members of the other group turned in the opposite direction and began to do the same. Killian glanced toward Emma, who stood waiting for the other members of her party to pass by. "Stay safe Swan," he told her softly.

She looked up, her expression indiscernible. "You too."

He swallowed thickly and nodded once, parting from her without another word. He picked his way through the jungle foliage, following his companions' trail. He caught up with them easily enough, for they were conversing in low tones as they walked. Ignoring them, Killian busied himself studying the lay of the land surrounding them. The last thing they needed was to wander into a patch of dreamshade.

He couldn't have managed a word at the moment even if he'd had to.

* * *

Killian peered around the trunk of an impossibly large tree, peering at Regina. The queen stood with her back against a tree, her hands spread out in front of her in anticipation of the magic she would soon unleash upon Pan. Neal had disappeared several moments before, a sword in his hand, to challenge Pan. With any luck, he would soon lead the shit straight into their own trap. If not...Killian hoped luck would be on their side in whatever they improvised to fit the situation.

The hiss of two swords meeting sounded faintly in the distance, and the eerie sound of a rooster's crow echoed through the jungle. Chills went up Killian's spine, despite the number of times he'd heard the cocky bastard's signature cry. Dread and worry filled him again. Eric had warned him that Pan was holding a grudge against him for fleeing the island without his permission so many years ago. What of Bae, who'd escaped his grasp so many years earlier? If Pan killed Bae-

The sound of clanking swords drew nearer, and he glanced at Regina. Her expression was one of intent concentration, her head cocked to one side, listening. Voices filtered through the noise of the jungle, and Pan lunged into view, attacking Neal with excited fervor. Neal dodged the blow, scowling with hatred at the demonic teenager before him, and thrust at Pan, forcing him within attacking range of Regina and Killian.

Responding to his prearranged cue, Killian turned away from the tree and darted toward Pan, raising his sword. He swung at Pan's backside with the flat of his blade, delivering a much anticipated smack on the teenager's posterior. Grinning in satisfaction at Pan's surprise, he danced out of reach, "Missed me, I hear," he taunted the boy. "Careful what you wish for, lad."

Pan twisted around, facing his back toward Regina, as he faced Neal and Killian. "Wish for?" he laughed. "I'm not the one busy wishing to get into Emma's pants. So tell me: which of you has managed to do-"

"Hey!" Neal barked, thrusting his blade up to nick Pan's throat. "Shut up."

"Regina," Killian hissed, jerking his head toward Pan, "what are you waiting for? Someone to serve him up on a bloody platter?"

"I'm trying," she hissed back. "My magic isn't working."

"Try a little harder," he urged, dodging a blow as Pan feinted at him, then twisted around to deliver a surprise blow to Neal. The other man fell to one knee, momentarily stunned. "Regina!"

"I can't!" she growled. "It's gone. It's like-like it never existed! I can't remember how to work any of my spells. The damned mirror took all my memories of learning magic!"

"Bloody hell," he swore.

Neal struggled to his feet, circling Pan, who laughed sadistically. "Something funny?"

"Of course," Pan chortled, "I have a secret."

"Don't let him get to you, lad," Killian bit out, attempting to control his temper with great effort. "He's bluffing. He knows we have the advantage."

"You do?" Pan swung his sword at Killian, who ducked in the nick of time. The blade whistled through the air over his head. "I think not. See, I know who Rumplestiltskin  _really_  is." He attacked Neal again. "Do you?" He grinned at their silence. "I didn't think so. I, on the other hand...well, I know him rather well. You might say I watched him  _grow up_."

"What are you, some sick stalker?" Neal managed, fending off a flurry of blows from Pan's sword.

"No, just...a typical father."

Neal faltered in his attack, shocked at Pan's words. The teenager grinned as if he were relishing the moment, then darted forward in a clear thrusting move, his intention clear as the sword moved toward his grandson's heart.

Killian moved without thinking, thrusting himself in front of Milah's boy to absorb the blow. He cried out as the sword pierced his chest, slashing desperately at Pan with his hook in the process. He missed, falling backward and knocking into Bae. The other man caught him with a shocked expression, lowering him to the ground with care.

Pan threw back his head and laughed. "So how's it feel, pirate, knowing you'll never escape Neverland alive? " He smirked, raising an eyebrow. "It's fitting justice, isn't it, dying in Neverland's jungle, your own personal hell?" Pan squatted down beside Killian and whispered in his ear, "This is for abandoning our game, pirate.  _No one_  leaves Neverland without my say-so. No one. I win. I  _always_  win."

He struggled to sit up, ignoring Bae's urgings to lie still or risk bleeding out like Pan wanted. "I won when I helped Baelfire escape," he hissed as Regina stepped out from behind the tree, holding her satchel in one hand. "I only stayed in Neverland to bide my time for the crocodile. You never saw that because it didn't occur to you that we weren't playing the same game."

The teenager's face contorted into a mask of outrage, and he turned his vile gaze to Bae. "Some victory, when he's about to die," he taunted, lunging for Milah's boy with his bare hands. Neal landed on the ground with a grunt, his expression dazed from the impact.

Enraged, Killian pulled Pan's sword from his chest, careless of the consequences. Adrenaline pumping, he sat up and slashed again with his hook, sinking it into Pan's back, intent on pulling him off Bae just as Regina swung her satchel at Pan's head. The satchel made a thunk against his skull, and Pan collapsed, out cold.

Bae shoved Pan's still form away and knelt next to Killian, helping him lie down again. "Damn Regina, what do you have in that purse, rocks?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," she drawled in a dry tone. "I wasn't left with much choice after the mirror took my magic."

Bae glanced at Regina, his expression conflicted, as if he didn't know just what to say to that. "Come on," he finally said, "help me make him comfortable."

Killian winced as they moved him, grunting in pain despite his best efforts to remain stoic. "Bae-" he began.

"Not now," the other man whispered fiercely. "Later. When you're better."

"We both know that isn't going to happen." Baelfire stared at him, unwilling to face the truth. Killian lifted his good hand with great effort and clasped his arm. "You must know I how much I loved your mother," he pleaded. "I never stopped loving her. Or you."

He nodded in quiet acceptance, lowering his gaze. "I know." He looked up again. "What did you mean, you won a game by helping me escape Neverland?"

A wave of pain washed over Killian, and he grunted. "Always watched over you," he managed. "Helped you when you needed it."

"I'm going to get Gold," Regina stated with determination.

"Hurry," Bae urged her. "And bring Emma." He turned back to Killian. "I have to find something to tie Pan up with," he apologized, "I can't risk him hurting anyone again."

Killian managed a short nod, and Baelfire walked over to Regina's hiding place, her satchel's contents long since upended on the ground beneath the tree. The other man squatted, pawing through them in search of something with which to bind Pan. Turning his head to the side, Killian grimaced from the pain that even this small movement of his body caused. Panting, he fixed his furious gaze on Pan's still form. He wouldn't be able to keep his promise to return to Emma safely, but, by the gods, he would keep his promise to strike at the bastard and ensure that he would never harm her boy again.

Rolling to his side with enormous effort, he raised his hook. "This is for Henry," he growled. He sank his hook into the teenager's chest, ripping the flesh open. Blood poured out of the unconscious man's chest, and Killian sank the hook deeper into Pan's heart, unwilling to part from this life until he was certain the deed was accomplished.

"What are you doing?" Bae's voice interrupted, cracking in astonishment. Scarves lay in a heap at his feet, where he'd dropped them.

"What needs to be done," he panted in reply. "What no one else will do."

"-right here," Regina was saying as she emerged from the brush with Gold and Eric hot on her heels.

They stopped short as Hook-for that was who and what he truly was in his final moments, accepting the darker side of his personality as it finally merged with the idealistic lieutenant of his youth-ripped Pan's heart from his body with triumph. He sank back to the ground with a gasp, and Eric stepped forward, his expression stricken.

"Godddamit, Jones, what have you done?!" he demanded.

Hook laughed. He knew it was inappropriate, a sign that his time was nearly up, but he appreciated the irony. "Wanted...make up...for the rum," he sighed at his best friend. "Gave mine...away this morning." He laughed again and gazed at the others. "Emma?" he intoned.

"We couldn't find her," Gold admitted, his expression unreadable. "She and Mary-Margaret left for the ship with Henry already." He knelt by Hook, examining the wound in his chest. Their eyes met, and a short nod from Gold confirmed what Hook already knew.

"Pity," he sighed, wishing he might have been able to say goodbye, but glad to know she had her son again. He looked at Eric. "My ship," he said, eyeing him steadily. "Take it."

"Jones-"

Ignoring him, Hook moved to grasp Bae's hand again, and gazing into the boy's eyes, he breathed his last and went to join his Milah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Don't hurt me! This fic ain't over yet! Not by far! Hopefully, I'll still have some readers left after this chapter. ;)


	10. Chapter Ten

Brushing her sleeping son's cheek, Emma smiled with affection and bent to kiss him again. She'd repeated these same gestures half a dozen times already, but she couldn't get enough of his presence. Having Henry snatched from her just as she had been getting to know the son she'd birthed so many years ago made Emma hyper aware of details she had not consciously catalogued before: his scent, the freckles on his skin, the way his hair fell over his face... She couldn't get enough. She never would. She might have missed out on the first eleven years of his life, but she intended to be there for the rest of them, to share in his life in a way she had never imagined doing until he had shown up on her doorstep the night of her twenty-eighth birthday.

A cacophony of footsteps thudded above, and she glanced at the ceiling. Voices rose and fell like waves, crashing together into an unintelligible muddle.

"The others must be back," her mother broke the silence.

"Yeah."

"I'll go up deck," Mary-Margaret offered. "You stay with Henry for a while."

She hesitated. "No," she decided. "Regina and Neal deserve to spend some time with him, too. We'll go up together. Wendy and Tootles can watch him."

"Emma, are you sure? They spent a long time with Pan."

"They were on the ship before we got here. If they were going to try anything, they would have sabotaged our ship or sailed away and stranded us already," she pointed out. "And Killian's willing to give them a chance. So should we." The name slipped from her lips before she gave it a second thought.  _Shit_ , thought Emma.  _Shit_.

The weight of her mother's silence filled the cabin. Self-conscious at such reflexive use of the pirate's first name, Emma rushed on, "Besides, they don't dare try anything with Captain Hook, Rumplestiltskin  _and_  Regina on board now."

"All right," Mary-Margaret sighed. "I'll go find them."

After they settled the two teenagers into the cabin with Henry, Emma woke her son briefly and explained the situation to him. Henry seemed happy enough at this turn of events, apparently having befriended both of the teenagers to some degree, and he sat up to regale them with knowledge of Storybrooke. Mary-Margaret seemed more reassured at this sight, and Emma followed her up to the top deck.

The minute she set foot on the uppermost deck, everything settled to silence, whatever commotion that had been brewing temporarily forgotten. Emma felt several sets of eyes on her, and realized that her father, Eric, and even  _Regina_ , were staring at her with sympathy. "What's going on?" she managed as an uneasy feeling began to build in the pit of her stomach. "Did we get Pan?" Her eyes swept the deck. "Where's Hook? In his cabin?"

David exchanged a glance with Eric.

"Yes," David finally answered, "but-"

"Is he okay?"

"No. No, he's not. Emma-"

But she had already bounded across the deck and flung the door to his cabin open.

"Emma, wait!" her father's voice echoed behind her as she clambered into the chamber. She stumbled down the steps and caught herself on a small table where a single lamp illumined the cabin with a soft glow. Killian lay motionless on a bed against the far wall of the room, and Emma closed the distance between them, sinking to her knees. Clasping his hand in hers, she furrowed her brow at the clamminess of his skin. "Killian?" she murmured into the stillness of the cabin. Was he feverish? Reaching forward to feel his forehead, she caught sight of the blood stains on his clothing.

She jerked away in horror as the pieces fell into place.

"No," she whimpered, willing it to be untrue, "no!"

"I tried to tell you," her father sighed from the doorway. "We didn't mean for you to find out like this."

"I don't understand. He  _can't_  be dead. He  _can't_." She reached forward, running her fingers through his hair, an act which she had always itched to do, but had never let herself indulge in.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , she thought.  _Coward._  She'd let fear rule her, cheat her out of the relationship she might have had with him if she'd only been brave enough to face the feelings that overwhelmed her now. "Killian," she sniffed, "Killian, please."

Her father's strong arms wrapped around her shoulders. "Come on, sweetheart. I'll explain up on deck. Everyone needs to hear this."

"No!" She shoved him away, sorrow evaporating in the face of rage. She couldn't go up there right now, maybe not ever, with the stares of concern and sympathy that made her skin crawl.

"All right," he agreed. And she listened, growing number with every word, as he explained the pirate's heroic death. "He died making certain Henry was safe," her father finished. "He'll get a proper funeral as soon as we get back to Storybrooke and make the arrangements."

"He was a sailor. He'd want a burial at sea," a voice murmured from the doorway. Emma looked up. Neal stood just outside the cabin, gazing at her uncertainly. "Emma," he began, "take a walk with me? Some fresh air might help. We need to talk."

"No!" she shouted, her anger returning full force. "I don't  _want_  to talk to you, Neal," she grated. Her fingers clenched together as all her grief for Killian erupted onto his rival. "We talked enough this morning. We're  _over_. We've been over since you left me alone and pregnant in a jail cell-"

"What?!" David exploded, his expression livid.

"-and then never bothered to look for me after the curse was broken!"

"Oof!" Neal fell backwards onto his ass, clutching at his bloodied nose.

"What the hell did you do to him?" she gaped at her father.

Charming shook his hand with a frown. "What should have been done a long time ago, from the sound of it." Wincing, he rubbed his sore hand.

Drawn by the commotion, the others crowded around outside the cabin door. "You hit my son?" Rumple said in disbelief, helping Neal to his feet again.

"It was well-deserved," Charming shot back.

"He's right, Pop," Neal muttered.

But Gold was not about to let it go. "Well-deserved?" he exclaimed sarcastically. "For trying to reunite his family and reconcile with his lost love?"

"He  _abandoned_  his family!" Charming spat with disgust.

"And he returned," Rumple growled, "and risked his life to lure Pan out of hiding and give your daughter her son back!" He turned his steely gaze to Emma. "If not for him, your happy family wouldn't be complete."

"Is that so?" Regina spoke up, a hand on one hip. She tilted her head and shrugged. "Seems to me you have the pirate to thank for that. I was there, Gold. He gave his life, protecting  _your_  son and  _mine_  from Pan." Rumplestiltskin reared back as if he'd been slapped, but Regina continued, undeterred and clearly enjoying his reaction, "If not for  _him_ , your son wouldn't even be here right now." She smirked, twisting the dagger of her words even deeper. "Yes, the pirate who spend hundreds of years trying to kill you, Gold. Tell me, how does that feel?"

"Enough!" Mary-Margaret shouted. "I think we all need to calm down and-and give Emma her space to say goodbye. Fighting won't solve anything." She glanced at Eric. "Take us home, Captain. " The sailor nodded, his expression wooden, and returned to the helm. David followed at his heels, preparing to pull anchor. Glancing at Emma in sympathy, Tink joined them, to open a portal with her newly recovered magic.

Mary-Margaret moved to follow the others as they filed away in silence, but Emma called after her, "Wait!" The other woman turned in askance, clearly ready to aid Emma in whatever way possible. "Stay with me, please...Mom?"

Tears filled Mary-Margaret's eyes. With obvious effort to control her own emotions, she enfolded Emma in a hug. "Of course."

They descended into the shadowed chamber, hands clasped together, and Emma stood stock-still for several moments, staring at Killian's lifeless form again. Her mother stood next to her in silence, ready to lend her whatever strength she could muster, and for that Emma was profoundly grateful, for she had never felt so empty and tired in her entire life. Clutching her mother like the lifeline that she was, Emma tried to clear her thoughts, but regret and grief replayed the day's events like a maddening echo that she couldn't banish. The conversation she'd tried to have with Hook. The conversation she had had with Neal instead. Their decision to use the Dark Mirror. Her pitiful farewell to Killian-

"The mirror," she whispered suddenly. "I need the Dark Mirror."

"Emma," her mother said warningly. "No."

"You said it can be used to talk to the dead," she said feverishly. "I see him one last time, tell him what I feel-"

"EMMA!" her mother said, grasping her by the shoulders. "Listen to yourself! The Dark Mirror already stole the memories of Regina's magic. She could have gotten killed! We could have lost Henry!" She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "I will not let you use that evil thing."

"Mom-"

"No.  _No_ , Emma." The princess sniffed, her face blotchy and red. "I've never had a chance to be a mother to you, because you grew up without me, and then you were an adult and you never needed it, before. But I will not let you do this, Emma. So help me God, as your mother, I will  _not_  let you do this. I won't let you take the chance that the mirror kills you, too!" She took a deep breath. "Or," she whispered with a pained look on her face, "take the chance that it steals your memories of Killian, of your love."

It was the last sentence that broke her. Emma sank to the floor, unable to hold back her tears any longer. Her mother held her for a time, until the numbness returned and Emma was no longer able to cry. Exhausted, she sat on the floor for a while, staring across the cabin at the man she had changed her so much, given her so much, without ever placing pressure on her to return his feelings.

"I don't know what to say," she finally said, some time later, interrupting the silence that permeated the cabin. "How do you say goodbye to someone who's already gone?" Her voice quavered despite her best efforts to remain stoic, and her mother looked at her in sympathy. She rose to her feet, her mother following suit.

"They say," Snow began softly, "that the spirit lingers for a time after a person dies." She smiled encouragingly. "Tell him how you feel, Emma. Tell him you loved him. I'm sure he can hear you." She gave her daughter a gentle shove forward and moved to a corner of the cabin, settling down to wait from a distance.

Emma took a deep breath and took another step forward. Her mother made it sound so simple. But talking about feelings had never come with such difficulty to Snow White as it had to Emma. Snow had never had to navigate through life with walls thicker and taller than the Great Wall, just to survive.

Killian had understood those walls, she thought, kneeling next to the pirate's lifeless body. Understood and somehow slipped behind them. How morbidly ironic, she reflected, that the one person who would have been able to help her with a task of this nature was the one that had died.

"I'm not good at this," she whispered to him, "you know that." She laughed shortly. "But it never mattered to you, did it? You knew everything about me anyway, from the moment we climbed that beanstalk." She paused, trying to control her emotions, lest she break down entirely and lose the power of speech before she could finish her farewell. "I'm sorry I abandoned you on the beanstalk. I should have told you that the day we talked about it, but...I-I couldn't get the words out. I know it hurt you, hurt both of us, even if it was necessary. I just wanted to get back to my son, make sure he was safe." She swallowed around the enormous lump that had formed in her throat. "But you made sure of that, didn't you? Made sure Pan will never harm him again. I should have trusted you, let you help me protect him the first time. Maybe you wouldn't be gone."

She sighed, reaching over to stroke his hair a final time. "How can you be gone, Killian?" she said, her voice trembling as tears threatened once more. "How? You left me. I-I thought...I didn't think you'd leave me again, not after all we've been through." She buried her face in his neck, ignoring the rough scrape of his stubble against her face. "So you can't be gone, you just can't. You can't abandon me like this," she told him hopelessly, her voice muffled. "I love you," she sniffed as hot tears spilled from her eyes and soaked into his skin. "I love you, Killian."

Wrapping her arms over his still body, she broke down sobbing in a way that she had not let herself do since she was a toddler and her adopted parents had returned her to the orphanage.

"Emma!" her mother gasped suddenly, interrupting her daughter's mourning. "Emma, look!"

But Emma felt the miracle a split second before her mother spoke, as magic left her body and a warm breeze blew through the cabin. Air heaved into the pirate's lungs. She felt his chest rise and fall in an uneven shudder, and she pulled away in confusion. The wound on Killian's chest was knitting shut with rapid speed. In the space of seconds, it was almost as if it had never been there at all, save for the ugly scar that was left behind.

Backing away quickly, Emma turned to her mother in fright. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Who's doing this?"

"You are," her mother whispered in awe. "I think you are."

"But-he was dead," she said woodenly. "Magic can't bring back the dead."

"Not normal magic," Snow said with a smile. "But yours has always been special, Emma. You're the Savior.  _You_  are special." Embracing her daughter, she pushed her away slightly. "Go. He's starting to stir."

Emma knelt by her pirate and waited with tentative eagerness, not quite willing to place all her hope in what might be a cruel dream. But the hand that she clasped in her own felt warmer with each moment, and the spark of hope inside her grew with a slow steadiness as Killian stirred restlessly. His eyes fluttered at last, opening only halfway, before they closed again, and for one terror-filled moment, Emma thought she was losing him all over again. His breathing continued, however, steady and strong. Relieved, she kissed the sleeping pirate on the cheek. The whys and reasons of it didn't matter, she realized. Somehow, he'd come back to her.

And that was all that mattered.

* * *

The door to the Captain's quarters opened, and Rumplestiltskin stepped through, shutting the door behind him as he stepped on deck again. "He is alive," he confirmed. His expression exuded a storm of emotions that Emma couldn't hope to interpret in a thousand years, but it was clear that joy was not among them.

"How?" Regina demanded with a scowl.

"Well," Rumple said with an indifferent shrug, as he strolled across the deck toward them, "if I had to guess, I'd say Miss Swan's unusual magic was the culprit." He sat down on a barrel and laced his fingers together. "Being the product of true love, her magic has always been innate to her being. Almost inseparable from her, really. That's why Cora couldn't take her heart. Emma was protected, down to the very last fiber of her being, by her parent's love for each other and for her."

"So you're telling me that an accident of birth is responsible for this?" Regina said sarcastically. "Not even True Love's Kiss can do what she just did, but somehow her magic, which she's barely had any training for, brought back the dead?"

Rumple eyed her with a smirk. "Jealous, dearie?"

Furious, Regina's hands curled into fists. She stalked away without a word, disappearing belowdecks to join Neal in watching over Henry. Rumple smirked, and Emma got the distinct feeling he'd just wreaked his revenge on the queen for needling him earlier.

"That was uncalled for," Snow said, glancing toward the hatch where Regina had disappeared, as if she wanted to follow after her stepmother.

"What I don't understand," Emma said, before another fight erupted, "is how my magic could be responsible for this. It didn't bring back Graham when he died."

"Ah," Rumple said with a tilt of his head, "but did you love him, dearie?"

She felt her cheeks grow warm, and she knew, even without the tell-tale tingling of her skin, that several sets of eyes watched her. Emma hadn't told anyone the full details of what had occurred in that cabin, and her mother, the sole witness, hadn't offered any, either. "I-I don't-" she stuttered, and she grew warmer still. "I had feelings for him," she admitted awkwardly.

"I see," Rumple said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a sarcastic smile. "Well, Miss Swan, I suspect mere 'feelings,' as you put it, weren't enough to spur your magic into action."

"What-what do you mean?"

"It would appear magic such as yours is a living thing, with an awareness that enables it to act of its own volition. It would explain the reaction it had to Cora's attempt to remove your heart. It felt threatened, and so it acted. In the pirate's case..." He crossed his arms. "Well, who knows, exactly? But it acted on its own, perhaps in response to your grief, without your control or guidance, and reached through the barrier between life and death to bring him back."

"Will it do this sort of thing again?" She felt her father's hand settle on her shoulder reassuringly. "Can-can I learn to control it?"

"Well, now," Rumple said, leaning forward a little, "that depends."

"On what?" she demanded.

"Whether your magic ever comes back."

"I don't understand."

Rumplestiltskin stood up and crossed the deck to her, pressing his thumb against her forehead. "You haven't a drop of it left, dearie. It's gone. Spent itself completely to bring back the pirate." He smiled without warmth, removing his thumb. "All magic comes with a price, remember? It burned itself out."

Emma thought fast. "But you said it was inseparable from me."

"Almost, dearie. I said 'almost'."

"Well...it...this doesn't seem like such a bad price to pay," she managed after a moment. "Lots of people live without magic. I'll just be normal, now. Like other people."

"Ah, but you were never meant for normal, were you? That's not who you are, who you were fated to be. Magic has always been a part of your being. You've never been without its presence, even when you were unaware that you had it. It's made you who you are. How many parts of yourself has it influenced and guided to shape you into who and what you are, as Savior? Don't fool yourself, dearie. Things will be different now. So will you."

Silence settled over the deck at this pronouncement, and her parents folded her into a hug, whispering reassurances and doses of the eternal optimism that she had often faulted them for. Emma bobbed her head in response, but as they moved away to give her some privacy, she shivered-and knew that it wasn't due to the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. I've had this part planned for a while, and it's nice to finally see it in print. I've loved all the Tangled parallels that fellow shippers have spotted with Emma and Killian, and I've wanted to write my own version of the Tangled ending, particularly since I'm unconvinced the show will ever go there. *sad face*
> 
> On a brighter note, I discovered a CS fan video on youtube just prior to writing this, by Legendary Dreamer, or MissJessieBan, which encompasses this chapter quite nicely. It's called "Love Don't Die." Needless to say, I listened to it frequently, while writing this. :D I encourage you all to look it up and go watch it a couple hundred times. Like Emma and Killian, it's pure magic.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Killian felt the dull pound of a headache before he even opened his eyes. Scrubbing at his forehead reflexively, he grunted.  _Gods_ , he thought vaguely,  _how much rum did I drink last night?_ His eyes felt like leaden weights when he tried to pry them open, and he almost gave up altogether. But duty to his ship and the thought of what Milah might devise to torture him if he missed his turn on deck spurred him to face the day, however nasty it might shape up to be.

But the stark whiteness of the strange chamber he found himself in made him uneasy. The four walls of the chamber were close, almost claustrophobic, and he wondered what manner of cell this was.  _I might have been better sleeping this one off,_ he decided, taking in the assortment of long tubes and bandages that were respectively attached to and wound around him. He sat up, puzzling over the strange, uncomfortable bed in which he had been lying. Clutching at his aching head with his sole hand, he wondered where his hook was.

"Killian."

He turned toward the unfamiliar voice, trying to clear his thoughts. A woman with long, curling locks of golden hair leaned forward in her chair beside his bed. Her green eyes sparkled with the fire of emeralds, and his gaze lingered on them. She smiled, brushing her fingertips through his hair, and Killian thought vaguely that its brilliance could have melted glaciers. If he had been in any other situation, if he wasn't devoted to his Milah, he might have matched her smile with a devastating grin of his own and urged her to apply the stroke of those fingers to other parts of his anatomy.

But this woman knew his name. His real name. And her manner with him was familiar, even intimate, though he could not for the life of him determine who she was.

He wanted answers.

"Who are you?" he demanded, voice cracking from the dryness of his throat. She paused, her fingers retreating from his hair. A vague sense of regret rippled through him in response, disconcerting him because he didn't know why or where it came from.

"What?" she faltered. She drew back into her chair, her smile evaporating.

"Where's my ship? What have you done with Milah?"

Her expression shifted from confused to hopeless. "Killian-"

He growled, "How do you know my name?"

"You told it to me," she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek. She looked away, down at the floor, folding her hands together. "You also said you don't favor being called 'Hook'."

"Why would I have done that?" he retorted suspiciously. "Who are you?" he repeated.

She swallowed. "Emma. My name is Emma Swan." She stood up, her expression defeated. "I'm going to get the doctor now." Opening a door, she slipped out of the room and disappeared from sight.

A tall man wearing a long white coat entered his room after a while, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. His hair was blond, cropped close to his scalp, and he watched Killian over the top of a small sheaf of papers bound to a piece of rectangular wood. "Miss Swan tells me you are experiencing some memory loss."

"My memory is fine," he argued. "Where the bloody hell am I? Where is my ship? And what have you bastards done with Milah?"

The man sat down on a chair with wheels and scooted across the room toward Killian. He stopped near the bed with a frown. "My name is Dr. Whale. And your ship is in the harbor, where you always keep it. And you're in a hospital because you were...injured quite extensively."

He contemplated the stranger's words, wondering whether he could trust them. He couldn't imagine what motivation the other man might have for lying to him, but guessing would be useless without more information about these people or what their motivations were. "And Milah?"

The stranger inhaled. "Listen, what's the last thing you remember before you woke up here?"

"Humor me," he added as Killian opened his mouth to argue again.

Sifting through the jumble of thoughts in his head, Killian tried to recall what he had been doing prior to his captivity. "I remember strong winds. My ship, my crew. Shouting at Milah to get below deck when a sudden squall hit us."

"How did you injure your arm?" the physician prodded, gesturing to the stump at the end of his left arm. "Do you remember that?"

"No." The admission frightened him, for he knew with a certainty that the injury was old. The sight of his handless arm upon awakening had been as familiar to him as the sound of his given name-though Milah had been the only one to use it since Liam's death. The fact that the Swan woman seemed to know it, to use it with such affection...

"Do you remember anything else?"

"A boy," he answered after a moment.

The doctor looked up at this, interest sparking in his eyes. "Oh? What does he look like?"

"Dark hair. Young. Maybe as old as thirteen."

"Interesting," the doctor murmured with a frown. He crossed his arms. "Anything else?"

Killian shook his head.

"Hook-" The physician consulted his sheaf of papers again. "Or do you prefer 'Killian'?"

He fixed the other man with a cold gaze. "You may address me as Captain," he ordered, unwilling to permit the physician the familiarity of using his given name, yet reluctant to be addressed by his absent appendage.

"Well, then,  _Cap'n_ ," the other man emphasized, his lips twitching in amusement, "I'm sorry to say, despite your protests to the contrary, Miss Swan is correct. You are indeed suffering from memory loss. It's difficult to say how extensive without running tests, but-"

"And Milah?" he pressed, determined that the physician should not forget his promise to disclose her whereabouts.

Dr. Whale pursed his lips together briefly, his brow creasing in concern. "I am afraid she died about three hundred years ago, Captain," he finally answered. "I am told you lost your hand in the incident involving her."

Dazed, unwilling to believe the doctor's words, he only half heard the doctor's explanation that memory loss wasn't unheard of when the brain had been deprived of oxygen for a period of time. "No!" he interrupted after a moment. "No," he seethed. Killian surged forward and grabbed the bastard by the collar of his strange white cloak. "I will not be lied to!" he raged. "Where is she?"

"Nurse!" the doctor shouted, turning his head toward the door. He wrestled Killian back onto the bed, grunting with effort. "Get me a sedative!" he snapped at the woman who dashed into the room. " _Now_!"

She dashed away.

Killian struggled to reassert his advantage over the doctor, but it was nearly impossible without his hook, and his other arm pinned down. They struggled some more, and the nurse reappeared, deftly handing the doctor a small dagger with a long, impossibly thin blade.

_It'll break_ , he thought with derision just before he felt a sharp prick in his neck. He blinked several times and slumped back into the bed, dazed.

"This job really sucks sometimes," Killian heard the physician snap in frustration.

Moments later, everything faded to black.

It was dark when he awoke next, a thin sliver of evening sky visible through the curtains on the wall to his right. A man with black hair and eyes like chipped ice sat next to his bed, his expression pensive. "Rejoining the world again, Jones?" he asked.

"Sod off," he growled.

"Is that any way to speak to an old friend?" the stranger replied with an amused, almost confident smile.

"I don't have friends."

He laughed softly. "So you always say. But tell me, Jones, what captain leaves the care of his beloved ship in the hands of an enemy when he's about to die?"

Killian cursed at the other man. "I don't know who the hell you are," he managed, and a light went out in the other man's eyes, replaced by concern and disappointment, "but I bloody well wouldn't have given you the Jolly Roger!"

"It's true, then," he murmured. He shook his head, looking tired. "My name is Eric." He frowned. "Look, Jones. I came by to tell you your ship is in good hands until you're ready to Captain her again." He paused, looking thoughtful. "I am sorry this has reopened old wounds, mate. Losing Milah all over again-"

"I am not your mate," he retorts with a snap. "And what do you know about it, anyway?"

"We  _are_  mates," Eric disagrees calmly. "Best mates. And one day, Jones, I will get you to admit that. As for the other...I know more than you might think."

Killian considered several replies, but discarded all of them. Anything he said would only encourage this irritating man. Though how he knew that was a puzzle that Killian struggled to solve. He didn't recognize this stranger, nor his name, but there was something about the way he spoke to Killian, as if every word were carefully thought out and designed to get under his skin, that felt like a worn-out path; a road that had been travelled countless times before.

And gods help him, he trusted the man, though he couldn't recall a single reason he should do so.

"Listen-" He hesitated, struggling to remember the name the stranger had given.

"Eric."

"Eric, then," he said. "Is it true?"

The dark-haired man watched him for a moment with a contemplative expression. "Yes, it's true. Milah is gone."

His words hummed with truth. Killian went limp against the bed, exhausted. "When?" he breathed, his voice almost a whimper.

"Long before we met, I'm afraid. I never knew her."

"How do you know of her, then?"

"Your crew. Word gets around." He paused, as if uncertain whether to proceed. "But I recognized the loss in you before I ever learned her name or your story. Like gravitates to like, they say. Perhaps the same is true for recognizing pain." He shifted restlessly in the chair. "Then again, you and I have always been more like each other than we've ever cared to admit, Jones. Maybe that's how I knew."

"And...the other things? Are they true as well?"

"You'll have to be more specific; I'm afraid I wasn't present for your conversation with the doctor."

"Has it been over three hundred years? How is that possible? I should be dead."

Eric's jaw tensed for a moment, as if Killian said something that touched a nerve. "It's been over three hundred years, yes," he confirmed. "As for how that's possible, well, that's a long story, and I don't know the whole of it. But if not for the impossible, we'd have never met." He slanted a look at Killian. "And you certainly wouldn't be alive."

Killian sensed that this, too, was the truth. Yet he knew instinctively that it wasn't the whole of it. Something was being concealed, left unsaid. "There's something you are not telling me."

Eric snorted softly, an amused smile lighting his face again. "There's a lot I'm not telling you, Jones. Doctor's orders. After the upset this morning, we're not to overwhelm you with information. Whale wants to see if the memories come back on their own, given a little time."

Shifting in his bed, Killian sighed. What he wouldn't give for a drink right now.

"Here."

He turned his head toward Eric.

The other man shook a flask at him, as if he'd read Killian's mind. "You look like you could use a nip."

He blinked. "How did you know?"

"As I said," Eric smiled, "best mates."

"Rum?" a female voice sighs. "In a hospital?  _Really_?"

"Emma," Eric greeted the blonde woman from earlier that morning. "Close the door and join us."

She eyed Killian, then shifted her gaze to Eric. "Actually, could you give us a moment?"

He stood up. "Certainly. I should get back to the Jolly Roger anyway." He thrust the flask into Killian's hands. "Don't worry," he grinned. "I'll be back to wear out my welcome tomorrow." Scooting past Emma, he disappeared from the room, shutting the door behind him with a click.

"Better hide that so the nurses don't confiscate it," she said in the awkward silence that followed.

"Perhaps," he answered, unscrewing the cap. "But not before I've had a drink." He took a swallow of the liquid, appreciating the burn as it slid down his throat. Yes, this was familiar. At least something was. Taking another long drink, he held the flask out to her on impulse. "Care for a nip, yourself?"

"Yeah," she said after some hesitation. "I would." She stepped toward him and took the proffered flask, fingers brushing against his lightly. She took a long drink, her eyes closing in an expression that was almost euphoric.

Killian smiled despite himself. So the woman enjoyed her drink. He had always admired a lass that could hold her liquor. Would she be able to out-drink him, if he challenged her? Milah had never quite managed to do so, he thought with a sharp stab of sadness and renewed loss. And she'd never been a lightweight with alcohol, either.

Emma watched him as she walked around the foot of his bed to the chair. Taking another drink, she handed the flask back to Killian and sat down.

He stared at the flask in consternation, turning it over in his hands. "We've done this before, haven't we?" he asked suddenly, struck by a strong sense of repetition.

She looked away. Her nod was almost imperceptible. "Yeah."

He tucked the flask behind his pillow, considering this. "I'm sorry I can't remember."

The silence stretched for so long that he thought she simply wasn't going to answer. "Me too," she said, in a whisper so soft he almost didn't catch it at all.

Leaning back, he fixed his gaze on the ceiling. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to her. He suspected their relationship was close, based on her behavior, but he had no idea what the exact status was. And he wasn't particularly interested in figuring it out at the moment, he decided wearily. His memories, his loss of Milah, were too sharp, too fresh for that.

He eyed her sidelong. But she wanted something, or she wouldn't be here. "If you're wanting to talk, love, by all means, don't be shy."

She peered at him with a frown. "Excuse me?"

"Well, any woman who would run her fingers through a man's hair must feel fairly comfortable with him," he pointed out. "So tell me what's on your mind."

She inhaled deeply. "Once...I knew a man named Graham."

His eyes narrowed a fraction. It cost her, to speak those words. He was as certain of it as his own name. "Go on."

"He was...we were..."

"Intimate?"

"No," she answered, her voice cracking with emotion. "No, not exactly." Her fingers fidgeted with something wrapped around her wrist, and he leaned over, trying to get a better look. Was she injured? He watched as her fingers twined in and out of...boot laces? Puzzled, he waited for her to continue.

"I just...I want you to know that I know what it feels like to lose someone," she said at last. Her expression was guarded, but he knew somehow that it wouldn't take much to break through that guard and make her acknowledge all the emotion that she clearly tried to hold back. "Someone you cared about. To have them taken from you suddenly-" She broke off, descending into silence again.

He watched her for several moments. There was more to the story about this Graham person, he was certain of it.

She stood up. "I'm sorry about Milah."

"Likewise about Graham," he returned.

She nodded. "Good night."

He watched her walk to the door. "You'll be back tomorrow?" he found himself asking.

Turning, she offered him an uncertain smile. "Maybe."

"Someone has to rescue me from Eric's ill attempts at witty conversation," he responds. And he could tell by the return of her brilliant smile that he pleased her somehow with his words.

"I'm your knight in shining armor," she promised, slipping out the door.

The door clicked shut. Killian leaned his head against the pillows, thoughtful.  _Emma_ , he thought.  _Emma_ , he repeated to himself, determined to fix it in his mind again. She had called him Killian. No one called him that anymore. What was she to him? What was he to her?

He was determined to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And there it is. That's the end of the first arc this fic. The second one will concentrate heavily on the restoration of Killian's memory, which means that the third arc will have to be about whether or not Emma gets her magic back.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a quick note: there has been a time jump at this point in the fic, but don't worry, I'll go back and fill in some of the previous events later, so you know exactly what happened for it all to arrive at this scene. :) So if you feel like you've missed a chapter...you haven't, not exactly. We just haven't filled in those gaps yet. Enjoy!

The Rabbit Hole was crowded.  _Small wonder on a Friday night_ , Emma thought, pushing her way through the sea of people as she made a beeline for the bar. Thank God she wasn't on duty tonight. Occupancy violations be damned. It wasn't her problem. She was here for one reason and one reason only: to get absolutely, undeniably drunk out of her mind.

Music blared from the speakers at migraine-inducing decibels, and somewhere, hidden from her sight, people were cutting loose on the dance floor. Emma ignored all of this and shouldered herself into an empty space at the bar. Standing room only tonight, it appeared, if the lack of bar stools was any indication. Just great. "Can I get a double shot of tequila?" she shouted at the bartender, waving to get his attention over the loud music.

A patron shifted next to her, and Emma found Prince Eric peering down at her. "Emma," he said, raising an empty tumbler in greeting. He turned away again, his expression distracted and despondent. The bartender set Emma's shot on the bar in front of her, and Eric gestured wordlessly to his glass. The bartender promptly refilled his tumbler, and Emma watched with a raised eyebrow as the sailor knocked back the glass of bourbon in one long gulp.

"What's the matter?" she asked sardonically. "Lost your taste for rum?"

Antagonism sparked in his icy blue eyes. He set his glass own on the counter with a thump. A few nearby patrons looked over at them, but after a measured, awkward silence, they returned to their own cares. "I don't know. You tell me," he responded in a quiet voice, his tone all too serious and completely unlike his usual good humor.

She stiffened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what you think it means," he returned, gesturing at the bartender for another bourbon. Emma wondered how many the prince had already imbibed. "You haven't visited him for a week."

She downed her shot of tequila and sighed. "Since when is it any of your business?" she bit back, her tone harsh from the surge of guilt and self-loathing that threatened to drown her.

"Since you made him so goddamned miserable!" he exclaimed with a soft snort. "Do you have any idea what it's like to live with a moody, confused pirate?" The bartender handed him another bourbon, and he cradled it in his hand, eyeing her with something akin to disappointment. He took a drink.

"It's been six weeks," she whispered. "Nothing's changed. He doesn't remember me or anything about the beanstalk or Neverland-"

"That's a pathetic excuse, now isn't it?"

She stared at him, too stunned and angry to respond for several heartbeats. "Screw you!" He barked a short laugh and took another drink. "I don't see you walking your ass over to see Ariel," she attacked. "In fact," she warmed up to the subject, "I see a lot of you slinking away when she's in the same room as you." His eyes flashed, the muscles in his face becoming tense with barely restrained temper. "What's the matter? The handicapped make you uncomfortable?"

She'd gone too far. She knew it when she saw his hand clench the half-empty tumbler of bourbon until his knuckles turned white. But she'd had a long week, screwed up too many calls and cases, and butted heads with Regina just one too many times to exercise caution or good judgment. "Don't tell me about pathetic excuses," she finished, seething inside.

Glass shattered against the wall behind the bar, spraying bourbon everywhere. Eric let loose a string of curse words that left even Emma, with all her casualness about language, staring in shock. "I don't have a problem with her goddamned legs!"

The bar fell silent, and Emma felt the eyes of every single patron staring at them.

Eric turned to her, his eyes crackling like bolts of lightning, the expression on his face livid. "But I do have a problem with hypocrites." He leaned toward her. His breath reeked of alcohol. "So let's make deal, shall we? I'll talk to Ariel when you tell that goddamned pirate you're in love with him." He smiled without warmth. "Let's see who the real coward is." Slapping a large amount of money on the counter, Eric apologized to the bartender for his mess and the disturbance, swept Emma a challenging look, and left the bar.

A fierce slew of gossip rolled through the bar the moment the door banged closed, and Emma ground her teeth together in frustration. Pirate or sailor, they were all irritating asses, she decided. No wonder Eric and Killian had become such good friends during their years in Neverland. Each of them specialized, in his own way, in getting under one's skin.

"You okay?" the bartender asked after a moment.

"Yeah. Fine," she answered shortly. "He's just wound up and had too much to drink."

"Want me to get him a cab?"

"No. He lives down at the docks. And he doesn't know how to drive anyway." A fact for which she was profoundly grateful, even amidst her anger with the prince. She'd always heard about the cursing and drinking a sailor could do, but she'd never witnessed it before until tonight. And from Eric, of all people. She never would have suspected him capable of...well,  _any_  of the way he'd been behaving tonight.

Chalking it up to alcohol, she ordered another double shot of tequila. After that little scene with the prince, she was more determined than ever to get screaming drunk. Eric wasn't the only one looking to forget his pain tonight. Emma would find oblivion tonight, come hell or high water, and if that meant a killer hangover the next day, well...screw it. Henry was with Regina this week anyway.

"I'll show you who the coward is," she muttered darkly, accepting the shot from the bartender. She downed it in one gulp.

But tonight, she would drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm not sure whom I feel sorrier for at the end of this chapter: Emma or Eric. I think they both need hugs and a lot of strong coffee. Life is treating them both kind of rough. We'll see a lot more about what is going on with Eric in his fic, which I hope to begin writing as soon as I can come up with a good title for the fic I want to do. Keep your eyes peeled for it!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Killian awoke to the sound of retching. "Not again," he mumbled in bleary irritation as he rolled out of bed. Fastening the hook onto the brace he wore, Killian reached for his trousers and pulled them on quickly. He slipped his feet into a pair of boots and yanked open the door to his cabin. "Mate," he called as he stomped onto the deck, "you can't keep doing this. Either bed the damned woman already, or-"

He broke off, halting in surprise when he saw a familiar female form hanging limply over the side of the Jolly Roger. Moonlight shone on Emma's golden hair and it fairly glowed from within, blowing askew in the evening breeze. His breath faltered for a moment. He hadn't seen a sight so beautiful since Milah, and the thought was immediately followed by a surge of confusion and guilt. Why did this woman affect him so? How close had they been, really? Killian had wavered between pushing her away and trying to draw her closer and find out, for weeks.

And then she had just stopped visiting at all, and he'd discovered that that brought a different kind of frustration altogether than his absent memories.

He walked over to her. "Emma? Love, are you drunk?" The sound of further retching ensued, and Killian shook his head. It seemed his ship had become a veritable magnet for sauced acquaintances of late. Perhaps a little talk about respect for his ship was in order.

He brushed the hair away from her face, grasping the silky bundle with his hand while she heaved again. "Well, this is an exciting way to spend my Friday night," he teased. "Really, lass, you might have brought some rum with you, at least, so we could make a date of it."

"Ugh," she moaned, "go away."

He frowned. "Hate to tell you,  _darling_ ," he said with a sarcastic bite, "but this is my ship. You're free to leave it any time you please." Killian let go of her hair and stepped back, all amusement gone. "Mind the deck on your way out. I just refinished it." He turned away and started back to his cabin.

"Wait."

He stopped, peering over his shoulder with a raised brow.

"I didn't mean it like that," she slurred, struggling to pull herself upright.

He reached over and steadied her with his hand, unable to help himself, no matter how annoyed he felt at the moment. "Then how did you mean it, love?"

Emma turned toward him and opened her mouth to speak, but whatever words she meant to say were never uttered. Her eyes traveled up and down him with slack-jawed interest. Her eyes fluttered closed. "God, he's hot without a shirt," she said in a soft voice that was almost a whimper.

He chuckled. "And you haven't even seen the best part, lass," he winked back at her. "Come on, then," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder, "time to sleep it off, Swan. Though I must say, you make the most interesting drunk I've met in a while. Much better than the damned prince and his blasted melancholic flute-playing at all hours of the night."

He guided her across the deck, steadying her uncertain steps and steering her back on course when she staggered in the wrong direction. "My cabin, Swan," he told her. "I'll bunk in the crewman's quarters tonight. You're likely to break your neck trying to get down the stairs in your condition." He peered over at her with a smile. And what a lovely neck it was, he decided, his eyes roving over it. He'd love to know what it looked like arched back in the throes of passion.

She looked up at him with a silly smile before he could pursue the thought any further. He raised an eyebrow in askance, and she stumbled to a stop, clasping her arms around his bare shoulders to steady herself. Her green eyes locked on his, and Killian was suddenly aware of how closely their bodies were pressed together. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling in the slightest, and his body betrayed this truth when she pressed her hips flush with his own.

He stared at her in confusion. "What are you doing, Swan?" he said hoarsely. He was both afraid and eager to find out.

Her lips brushed his own, feather light. "Kissing you," she murmured before pressing her mouth firmly against his. He froze as she gently nipped at his lower lip. Killian felt rooted to the deck, helpless, as his groin grew harder. Her tongue invaded his mouth, caressing and curling in the most intoxicating way, and his heart ached with longing as he responded, arms settling at her waist, though for what he couldn't comprehend. Emma increased the pace, her kisses more insistent, and his knees almost gave out.

Killian tightened his grip on her, drawing her closer. He deepened the kiss, nearly annihilating her as he searched for answers to questions he couldn't begin to formulate. His hand slid beneath the fetching red jacket she always wore, fingers exploring and stroking of their own volition. She was driving him mad. He could almost grasp it, the solution to the puzzle of him and her; it was forever pulling, teasing, glimmering just out of his reach-

Emma pulled away suddenly, and he felt a keen sense of loss. She buckled over, her expression alarmed, and vomited all over his boots and the newly refinished deck.

He sighed.

"Can't say I've ever had a woman react to my kisses like that before," he said, annoyed. He couldn't help it. No matter how ridiculous or irrational, it bruised his ego all the same. "You flatter me, Swan." He lifted a boot, shaking off some of the excess vomit, and then repeated with his other. "Tomorrow, love," he said, guiding her the rest of the way to his cabin, "you'll pay me back for the mess you made all over my ship." He opened the door to his cabin an helped her down the short set of steps. She sagged against him as he walked her to the bed, and he sat her down with haste, afraid that she might pass out on the floor and injure herself.

 _And not a moment too soon_ , he observed, as she slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. He slipped her jacket off and laid it aside, knowing from experience how difficult it could be to remove the stench of vomit from leather. He knelt by her feet and slipped her shoes off. A strong urge to massage her feet overtook him, and he was painfully reminded of the many nights he had done so for Milah.

Feelings guilt and disloyalty surged through him. What the bloody hell had he been doing earlier, taking advantage of Swan like that? She wasn't in her right mind, and he certainly wasn't in any position to encourage her...

_**Five and a half weeks earlier** _

_Killian knew the moment she slipped into the room, knew it by the scent of foxglove and violets that she always exuded. He listened to her quiet footsteps cross the room, and decided to maintain the pretense that he was asleep. He felt the tension release from his neck and shoulders as she sat in the chair next to his bed. Killian enjoyed Emma Swan's company. But he found it confusing. She seemed to want something from him, and he had no idea what it was. He suspected the odd assortment of gifts she brought him had something do with it: a coconut one day, a bottle of spring water the next, a book about a chap named Jack and his beanstalk... He had no idea what to make of them, and her disappointment was almost palpable each time he failed to remember whatever memory she thought might be triggered by them._

_"Killian, I know you're awake," she said after several moments. "Stop pretending."_

_He opened his eyes, turning his head to gaze at her with curiosity. "How did you know? Had some experience sleeping next to me before, love?" he leered._

_A corner of her mouth quirked up into a tired smile. "Not exactly. We weren't alone, but-"_

_He grinned, interrupting, "Another lass with us, perhaps?"_

_Emma glared daggers at him, and he found the sight inexplicably arousing. "No," she told him firmly._

_His face fell. "Not another lad, then?" He shook his head. "Really, Emma, you expect me to believe that? Even I have standards for what I'm willing-"_

_She clamped a hand over his mouth, silencing him. "Shut up, Killian," she told him, trying not to smile. Her eyes reflected amusement. "We were travelling with a group of other people." She raised her eyebrows. "My parents included." She removed her hand and leaned back in the chair, considering him. "If you don't want to talk, that's okay."_

_But it isn't that he doesn't want to talk. He's simply tired of talking about himself: what he does or doesn't remember, the things he is or isn't familiar with in this realm, how his moods change so swiftly..._

_"Tell me about Graham," he said suddenly. He'd been curious about the real story, ever since she'd mentioned it to him, said she knew the pain of abruptly losing someone she'd cared about._

_He listened while she recounted her move to Storybrooke, her first encounter with Graham, and working with him at the Sheriff's station, the feelings she had developed for him, and the tragic way in which he had died in her arms. It reminded him of the course his relationship had taken with Milah, three hundred years ago, culminating in an eerily similar and tragic death in his own arms._

_"That's why I became Sheriff, and why I wear his shoe laces around my wrist," she finished, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "So I never forget."_

_Killian understood that. He glanced at the tattoo on his right arm. He knew what it was like to want a constant reminder of someone beloved, especially after his or her death. The fact that he had gotten the tattoo before Milah had perished didn't diminish his appreciation for it in the slightest. So long as it was there, she would live on in his memory, a part of his life, even in her death._

_"Thank you," he told her after a time. He'd needed to hear the story. Wanted to connect with someone who understood even a fraction of the depth of his loss. Maybe in time he might even share his own story about his tragic romance of Milah..._

Heart aching at the memory of their mutual sorrow, he laid Emma on her side and covered her with a blanket. "Sleep well, Swan," he told her unconscious form from the door frame. "If tonight was any indication, tomorrow you'll have one hell of a headache."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter! Next chapter, of course, will be Emma's, and it will deal with her waking up on the Jolly Roger with one killer hangover!
> 
> If you enjoy my work, consider checking out my tie-in fic of Ariel and Eric's story, called Kiss the Girl.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Settle in someplace comfortable with a good beverage. This is another long chapter, but I hope you'll enjoy it.

A shrill ring cut through the fog of Emma's incomprehensible dreams. Groaning, she shifted in the bed. The taste of stale tequila lingered on her tongue, taunting her; even another shot would be welcome compared to the sandpapery dryness that greeted her now. Scrubbing the grit from her eyes, she searched the bed blindly with one hand for her ringing phone. A buzzing sensation startled her further awake as she shifted, and she swore. Reaching under hip, she retrieved the buzzing pest, intent on silencing it so she could retreat into oblivion again.

Staring through bleary eyes at her mother's picture on the screen, she sighed and pressed 'talk'. "Yeah?" she croaked, clutching her forehead with the palm of one hand while her other searched for the switch that would turn on a lamp. "Dammit!" she swore as something rolled off the nightstand.

"Emma?" her mother's worried voice said through the phone, "Where are you? David says you never woke him up coming in last night. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answered, climbing out of the bed. She stumbled forward, feet tangling in the coarse blanket.  _Damn, Granny,_  she thought hazily as she caught herself on the nightstand, _buy some better bedding._  "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, disentangling herself. " Her fingers scrabbled along the nightstand, searching for the lamp, but met an empty surface.  _What the hell?_  she wondered vaguely. Had she knocked over the whole damned lamp?

"Are you sure?" Mary-Margaret replied in a worried tone while Emma put her mother on speaker and pressed the flashlight app on her phone to illumine the room. "We've been worried sick about you."

"I'm okay," she repeated, shining her light around the room. "I-" She broke off a her flashlight illumined an old fashioned table covered in maps, star charts, and tools she recognized from the Neverland trip, but could not possibly name. She wasn't in a motel room at Granny's at all. She was in Killian's cabin on the Jolly Roger. "Oh fuck," she moaned in humiliation as her argument with Eric at The Rabbit Hole last night flooded back. "What did I do?"

"Emma? Emma!" her mother shouted through the phone. "What's the matter?"

Her knuckles ached as she clutched the phone tighter. "I can't talk," she snapped. "I have to go."

"Emma," Mary-Margaret protested, "what-?"

"If David asks, tell him Granny rented me a room after I had too much to drink last night. You got that?" she hissed.

"But why? What's going on? You went out drinking? Emma, you should have at least texted-"

She inhaled with a shudder. "I'm on the Jolly Roger," she whispered fiercely. "In Killian's cabin. And I don't remember a damn thing."

" _Oh_ ," came the shocked reply. "Well-maybe that's a good thing?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "Look, I'll talk to you later."

"All right, Emma. Good luck."

"Thanks." Emma pressed the button to end her call and stared at the glowing screen of her phone for several seconds.  _Well_ , she thought, standing up with grim resolution,  _time to figure out what the hell happened._  Though if her solitary presence and the clothes she still wore were any indication, not the sort of thing she  _wanted_  to happen between her and Killian if he ever recovered his damned memories.

Emma wasn't sure whether she felt relieved or disappointed.

Using her flashlight, she found her jacket folded neatly on a chair and slipped into it with a shrug of her shoulders. She pulled her hair free and crossed the room, pausing by the door to turn off the flashlight app and stow her phone in her jacket pocket. Her fingertips brushed against a pair of sunglasses and Emma almost cried in relief. Opening the door to the cabin, she slipped them on to protect her eyes from the bright sun and stepped onto the deck. Killian wasn't at the helm, nor anywhere else on the stern of the ship, but that wasn't too surprising since the Jolly Roger was docked at the harbor in Storybrooke, she decided after a minute.

A breeze blew across the deck, whipping Emma's hair into a tangle, carrying with it the strong tang of salt and a lilting masculine voice singing a lively sea shanty.

"What the-?" Rubbing the pounding ache in her head, she followed the sound to the bow of the ship and stopped short at the sight before her. Killian stood near the foremast with a bucket at his feet, swirling a mop in lazy circles across the slick deck, his voice rising and falling like ocean waves as he sang the animated tune. Seeming to sense her presence, he looked up, pausing in his work. "Ahoy," she said with a sarcastic salute of her hand.

He eyed her for a moment. "Really, love?" he said with an arch of his brow.

She sighed. "Give me a break, I have a killer hangover." She watched him return to his work, noting the way he lifted his head ever so slightly, inhaling with closed eyes, as the wind whipped across the deck again and mussed his dark hair; his facial muscles relaxed, and he began to hum, as if he had quite forgotten her presence.

"I didn't know you sang," she said as he chanted the words to another tune under his breath.

He abandoned the song and smiled over at her. "Nearly all sailors do, lass. Helps pass the time on watch, and makes the work more enjoyable." He shrugged. "And after a time, when you're adrift in the ocean without a bit of land in sight, when it's just you and the sea...and you realize what a grand, beautiful, fiery-tempered lass she is...you can't help but worship her a little with your voice."

His words resonated with her, and Emma realized that she knew something of what he talked about. She'd felt it in some small measure while they had sailed to Neverland, despite her worries for Henry or the attacks from the Mermaids. There had been a split second, when she'd jumped into the water to wake everyone the hell up and stop fighting, that Emma had almost felt as if she'd returned home. Almost, she thought, watching Killian with a soft smile, because she was never completely home without Henry or Killian.

"That's really beautiful," she whispered. "Thank you." He looked away, dipping the mop in the bucket of seawater again, and didn't reply.

"If you're looking to soothe that aching head of yours," he said after a time, "there's some tea down in the galley. Brewed it this morning," he said, tossing her a wry look. "Thought you might need it."

"Thanks," she said, turning to go below deck. His hand clamped over her arm, and she turned back to him, startled. Her heart hammered as Killian leaned close to her. The tip of his hook slid between her temple and the arm of her sunglasses, removing them from her face with neat precision. She blinked at him as he caught the falling glasses in his hand, passing them to her with a smirk.

"Don't thank me yet."

Puzzled by the odd exchange, she tucked the sunglasses back in her jacket pocket, squinting in the bright sunlight. She watched him for a moment, but Killian had fixed his attention on his work again, and didn't seem inclined toward further interaction at the moment. Emma left with a frown and went in search of the tea. She found it in the galley, just as he'd said, warming in a cauldron that hung over a small fire in the middle of a raised sandpit made with bricks.

"Okay," she said with a shake of her head and a small smile. No wonder Killian and Eric ate at the diner so much. The antique set up of the galley didn't look as if it lent itself to much variety in the types of food that could be prepared. "That's gotta be a pain the ass to cook with," she muttered, searching the cupboards for something in which to put her tea. A mix of antique and modern mugs filled the lower shelf of one cupboard, and Emma selected a plain white porcelain one. Returning to the cauldron, she removed a wooden ladle from a hook on the wall and filled the mug with the dark, steaming liquid.

Cupping the mug in both hands, she blew on the tea to cool it faster, and wandered back up to the main deck. She stopped short when she returned to Killian. The pirate's mood had shifted in her absence. Instead of amused and cheerful, his expression had shifted to moody and sullen, a look that had became all too familiar to her over the past few weeks.

_**Three weeks earlier...**_

_Emma peered up the gangplank at the Jolly Roger, wondering sort of mood she would find Killian in today. There had been little noticeable improvement to his memory since he had returned home from the hospital. She knew it frustrated him enormously that he couldn't remember large portions of his life, that there were strange holes in his memories he had to navigate around, but it frustrated_ her _that she couldn't do anything to help. She had long since given up any attempts to subtly jog his memory by bringing him gifts with her visits. Each of them had failed utterly, and brought only more pain for both of them in return._

_And now, she thought, trudging up the gangplank, even her visits had become something of a trial for him. She could see it in the way he withdrew, shutting himself away, while she was present. His smiles appeared less frequently, replaced by an angry bitterness that she hadn't seen since his attempts to avenge Milah's death, and his eyes rarely met her own, rejecting any acknowledgement of the connection that she knew they could both feel. Even the merest brush of her touch evoked a wince so slight that it might have been imperceptible, if she didn't know him so well. But the worst part, the part that filled her soul with an ever-growing despair, was that his occasional flirting banter had evaporated._

_Her pirate had vanished, replaced by a total stranger._

_"Hello?" she called out wearily, her boots echoing across the worn deck as she walked. "Killian?" she said raising her voice to give him ample warning of her presence. The last time she had surprised him, catching him unaware in his cabin while he brooded, he had had a small breakdown; before she knew it, a gust of wind whipped through the cabin, glass shattered, and she found herself pressed up against the wall of the cabin, with Killian half-yelling and half-sobbing things at her she couldn't even comprehend. It had taken Eric, drawn by the commotion, to pry him away from her and restore things to order again._

_Later, after a long, loud argument with Killian, Eric had sought her out and inquired about her well being. Emma couldn't find the words to explain to the sailor that she hadn't been frightened by Killian at all, just frozen with grief. She was the Sheriff, after all. She carried a gun and handcuffs, for God's sake. A physical threat wasn't anything she hadn't handled countless times before in her careers._

_But Killian hadn't attacked her physically. He'd done something much more damaging; he had put the first cracks in her faith that her love for him was enough to someday return him to her._

_"Killian?" she tried again, closer to his cabin. She knocked on the door."Hello?"_

_The door opened, and he peered out at her, his eyes bright and untroubled for the first time in days. "Love," he greeted her, standing aside so she could enter, "come in. I'd like to talk."_

_She brushed past him, issuing him a wary look. "Yeah?" she snorted, unable to help herself. "Since when? You've avoided talking to me about anything important for weeks._ If _you even talk to me at all." She started to sit down on the bed, then thought better of it and remained standing. She couldn't bear to rest there, not the spot where he had lain so lifeless and cold; not the place where she had brought him back to life, only to have lost him again._

_Blinking back the tears that threatened, she crossed her arms, thereby building the only wall she had left to defend herself with, the only way she could block him out and push the pain away. Damn Gold. Damn magic that had burned itself up and left her far too vulnerable in every single way imaginable._

_"Lass," he said, taking a step toward her._

_She backed away, knowing instinctively that a single touch from him at this moment would break her, and fell into the very bed she had tried to avoid. Tears spilled down her cheeks. It was too much. Everything was too much now. She uncrossed her arms, wiping away hot tears with fury. Stupid, useless wall. It didn't keep anyone or anything out. Not ever. And though she strained to appear normal to others, to behave as if Gold was wrong and her loss of magic hadn't really affected her at all, Emma knew it was only a matter of time before everyone in Storybrooke found out, no matter how hard her parents tried to keep her secret._

_And the minute people found out their Sheriff couldn't keep order anymore, couldn't keep the criminals and villains in check, all hell would break loose. And she would be their first target. She was a dead woman walking. It was only a matter of time._

_"I'm sorry," he said softly, interrupting her muddle of tense, worried thoughts. "That day." His forehead creased, and his blue eyes watched her with sadness. "I didn't mean to frighten you. It wasn't my intent to-to hurt you. I've-I've never hurt a woman before in my life." Pain was etched into his features, a plea for her trust in his eyes._

_"You didn't hurt me," she sighed, "you just...had a bad moment. It happens to all of us. And you weren't responsible for the rest of it. I left the door hanging open." She rubbed her eyes, exhausted. "Look, let's just put it behind us. I don't want to think about it anymore."_

_But the look he issued her told her that he wasn't likely to stop thinking of the incident any sooner than she was. It had damaged their already tenuous and complicated relationship._

_"Maybe we should stop this, lass," he said with a blink of his tortured gaze. "Leave each other be, for a time."_

_But they both knew he was talking about forever._

_"You don't mean that," she said after a moment, with far more conviction than she felt. She laced her fingers together, wishing she still had the ability to detect lies. Maybe then she could get a vague sense of what he really felt, where things really stood. Maybe then things wouldn't be so fucking painful. Fuck Gold and his fucking prophetic words. Fuck Pan and Neverland, and fuck Neal most of all for letting Killian die in his place._

_"No."_

_"All right." She stood up. "Then we carry on. We try to figure this out together." She offered him a weak smile. "Take me sailing?" Because she needed to smell the sea again, feel the cool wind as it whipped across her face and rippled through her hair. She needed to feel free and unburdened, if only for a little while. Needed to feel a connection to Killian, no matter how temporary._

_And only the sea could bring them together like that these days._

_"All right, love," he smiled with mournful blue eyes, "let's go sailing."_

Emma exhaled as the memory faded. It hurt to think of such resolution to weather the storminess of the relationship now, after she'd given in to despair and stopped seeing him. That it had only been a week mattered little. It might as well have been a lifetime, so far as both of them were concerned. She'd meant it as one.

Emma snuck another look at Killian and settled on a barrel with her tea, uncertain whether he would welcome interruptions in his work. Whatever he was contemplating, it wasn't a happy topic. She took a sip of her tea, hoping it was cooled enough that she wouldn't burn her tongue.

The most vile substance to ever fill her mouth slid across her tongue, and she choked. "What the hell?" she coughed. "What did you put in this?"

He grinned over at her. "Sure you want to know, love?"

"Actually," she said, eyeing the so-called tea with trepidation, "I don't."

"Drink up, Swan. It will help."

"Actually," she said, "is Eric around? I need to talk him." And apologize her ass off, she thought.

Killian's expression clouded over, and he eyed her for one long moment. "Lagerkron!" he bellowed suddenly, tilting his head upward, "Get your bloody arse down here!"

Emma followed his gaze upward, shielding her eyes, and spotted a figure making its way down the mast of the ship with careful precision. She watched in stunned silence for a moment, mesmerized by the quick grace with which he moved. Did all sailors move like that?

"What the hell?!" she exclaimed after a moment, sweeping a furious look at Killian. "Do you have any idea how much he drank last night? He'll break his neck!"

Killian's expression softened at her words. "He knows how to move about a ship better than he does on land, love." He looked upward again, watching Eric's progress. "Besides, he knows the consequences when he drinks too much."

"You drink rum all the time!" she accused.

"Not enough to interfere with my duties or my turn on watch. He's first mate of this vessel, Swan, and former captain of his own ship. He knows it can't be tolerated."

Eric jumped the last few feet, landing with an ease that was almost cat-like on the deck. He wore a pair of ragged trousers and not a stitch more, his hair rumpled into a wild tangle. He winced, shielding his eyes from the sun, and stood up, removing a knife from his teeth. "What now?" he glowered at Killian. "I haven't finished the inspection."

"Swan wants to speak with you."

The sailor turned, and Emma stared helplessly at his bare chest, admiring the lean muscles and fine layer of chest hair despite herself.  _Damn_ , she thought,  _damn. Ariel doesn't know what she's missing_. Her eyes slid over to Killian, who was glaring at Eric, and she wondered what he would look like without a shirt. She felt her cheeks grow warm. "Yeah, um...if you have a moment," she mumbled, recovering.

Eric sighed, bare feet slapping softly on the deck as he walked over to her. "Make it quick."

She pulled him to the side, peering over his shoulder at Killian, who had returned his attention to cleaning the deck. "So, uh, Lag-Lagerkrum, huh?" she said, fumbling over the surname in her effort to break the ice. Eric's eyes narrowed.

"Lagerkron," the sailor corrected with a frown.

"Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?" Killian mocked without looking up from his work.

Eric rolled his eyes. "Well, we can't all be as simple as you, Jones," he shot back. He guided Emma farther away, out of Killian's earshot. "What do you want?"

"To apologize. I was an ass last night. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I'm sorry."

The sailor's expression lightened, a shadow of his usual good cheer returning to it. "Neither should I. My apologies." He ran a hand through his hair, darting a glance over his shoulder. "He's not as bad off as he seems, you know."

"What do you mean?"

He gave her a considering look. "Well, he said he didn't know me when he awoke, yet his first reaction to me said otherwise. He may not have recalled my name, or parts of our history in Neverland, but some part of him remembered me, to act by such instinct. Trust his actions, Emma. Not his words. You're in there; he just can't put all the pieces together right now."

"Thank you," she smiled, grateful for the hope he'd sparked in her again.

He nodded, then shook his head with a chuckle.

"What?"

"Don't look now," he said in a low tone, "but I think the green-eyed monster is preparing to pounce."

Emma peered over Eric's shoulder at Killian. The pirate was watching them with a scowl, all pretense of work abandoned. "I'll be damned," she breathed in amazement.

"I told you so," he said with a crooked smile. He clapped her on the shoulder. "It's good to see you again, Emma."

Emma watched him retreat, ascending up the foremast again to complete his inspections, and she snuck a glance at Killian. The pirate was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite interpret.

"Finish that tea yet, Swan?" he inquired when their eyes locked.

"No," she answered, moving toward him.

"Too bad. It would have made things easier for you."

"Easier?"

He arched a brow. "You don't remember?"

"Uh, not really." She hesitated. "On a scale of one to ten, just how big of an ass did I make of myself last night?"

He tilted his head to the side and smirked. "Oh, I'd say eleven or twelve, at least."

"What!"

Killian laughed. "Relax, Swan. You passed out before anything really interesting could take place. But not before you made a mess all over my deck." He looked pointedly at the mop he held his hand. "So. You are being drafted into my crew as recompense."

"I can't be part of your crew!"

He crooked a smile at her. "On the contrary, darling. You have no choice. For the weekend, you are mine."

"I can't stay here all weekend!"

"Have you a previous engagement?"

"No," she faltered, "I'm not working this weekend."

"Then I'll leave the sleeping arrangements up to you," he winked with his familiar, infuriating leer. "You're welcome to go ashore at night, or stay on the ship, but part of my crew you will be for the next two days."

"What? I can't-I don't know anything about ships!"

"Not to worry, love" he assured her, guiding her across the deck toward the port side of the ship. "You'll start small, clean up our lunch." He reached down with his hook and offered her a large bucket full of freshly caught fish. Emma took one whiff of the smell and heaved up the contents of her stomach over the side of the ship.

Killian chuckled. "Welcome aboard, love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So who caught the How I Met Your Mother reference in this chapter? Yeah, I couldn't resist slipping that in. I'm such a nerd. :P
> 
> Since Eric doesn't have a canonical name on OUaT or in TLM, I decided to give him one of my own making, using the Old Swedish term "lager," meaning "laurel," (not a type of beer, haha, which is the reference we are used to now) and the word "kron," meaning "crown". Apologies if I didn't quite render it correctly, for anyone speaking similar languages to this. I'm cashing in the creative license card on this one. ;)
> 
> What do you think about Killian's little fib to Emma about the previous night? His drafting her as a member of his crew?


	15. Chapter 15

Killian paced the length of his cabin, restless. It was a feeling helped not in the least by the limited dimensions of his cabin. What the bloody  _hell_  was he doing? What, by all the land and sea and sky, had possessed him to press Swan into service as a member of his crew for the weekend? That she owed him recompense for vomiting all over his newly refinished deck wasn't even a question. The real issue was why he hadn't simply forced her to perform one or two unpleasant chores and sent her on her way. It wasn't as if they had gotten along particularly well of late.

And yet, despite the sometimes unpleasant tension between them, Killian had fared much worse without her. He'd felt lost, cast adrift in foreign seas without maps or compass, his anchor gone. It was a feeling he hated. The last time he had experienced the feeling was after Milah had died, and the implication behind that disturbed him.

 _Milah_.

Brown curls and a mischievous smile flashed through his mind. Memories of their relationship flitted through his thoughts. Images of Milah singing to herself as she tidied their cabin. Holding each other while the shared watch underneath the stars. Dancing around a bonfire at a dizzying pace during shore leave, their legs nearly giving out as they clutched each other afterward, chests heaving, as their laughter rang in the dark. Whispered confidences, secrets shared, dreams revealed as they lay naked together beneath the cool sheets of his bed. And lovemaking. Ah, gods, the lovemaking...

Killian's fingers twitched, straying toward the laces of his leather trousers out of instinct, eager to relieve the aching hardness beneath them.

Clenching his fists, he resumed his restless pacing. He was on duty. It would be bad form to indulge. And Killian wouldn't let himself get distracted again. He couldn't afford to be sucked down that void of pain and suffering and might-have-beens. Milah was gone, and they'd never be able to unite themselves together as one again. Indulging himself wouldn't change that, and it only left him feeling emptier and angrier than ever afterward.

It wouldn't bring back his memories of Milah's death or the loss of his hand, either. Memories which he had been chasing after for weeks. Killian wasn't certain whether his desperation to recover them stemmed from a need for closure, the instinct to cling to any piece of Milah he had left (no matter how painful), or the desire to understand his own past and feel whole again. But he wanted them back just the same. He needed to know the why, the how, of his loss, to mourn her as properly as she deserved.

But the memories he wanted of her never came. Nor of Swan.

Fuck it. Some memories of Milah were better than nothing-which was all he had of Swan.

And he needed it. Needed to lose the tension that had haunted his body since Swan had kissed him the night before. Since he'd felt the softness of her skin, the soft curve of her breast underneath his hand...

He unlaced the front of his trousers.

A knock sounded on his cabin door the moment he'd managed to free himself. He cursed, fumbling to right himself and re-tie the laces of his trousers. "What is it?" he shouted, the backwash of unresolved lust making his words far more curt and irritable than warranted.

"Uh, it's Emma," the familiar voice said uncertainly. "Permission to enter-Captain?"

Killian cursed under his breath. It would be Swan. At the most inconvenient time possible. When it would be damn near impossible to keep his hands off of her.

Thinking fast, Killian seated himself at the table and scooted his chair in, hiding the telltale bulge in his leather trousers. He drew some of the maps that littered the table toward him, attempting to appear busy. Clearing his throat, he fixed his gaze on a star chart and called, "Permission granted, Swan."

The door to his cabin creaked open, and Emma poked her head inside. Green eyes glittered at him with confusion, hesitation etched on her beautiful face.

"Well?" he prompted, arching a brow after she made no movement to enter. "I've already given you permission to enter. Shall I give you permission to speak, so you can ignore that, too?" He smirked, shaking his head. "Such insolence from the crew will not go unpunished, Swan."

She rolled her eyes and stepped inside, latching the door closed. "Like you're not torturing me enough already," she muttered. " _Captain_ ," she added as afterthought, sarcasm dripping from her words.

He wanted to say something witty. Something along the lines of,  _Really? You haven't seen anything yet, darling_. But the words stuck in his throat as he took in her bedraggled form, eyes roving over the length of her, and his erection grew harder.

Golden hair was bound away from her sweaty face, coiled up in a knot at her nape, loose wisps of hair fanning out from her features in a halo. The red leather jacket had been abandoned, exposing a form that was far too appealing to him in his lustful state. He glanced away, trying to collect his thoughts, which had utterly scattered at the notion of ripping her out of the sleeveless grey blouse, form fitting black trousers and smudged, mud-speckled calve-length boots to have his way with her, protocol be damned.

When in all hells had this happened to him? Where were these feelings, this attraction coming from? Why couldn't he remember any of it? There was something between them; he felt it more and more when she visited. But whether it was something acknowledged, or whether they had teetered on the precipice of acknowledgement before his memory less, Killian worried he might never know. And what in the hell was he supposed to do in the meantime? How was he to act toward her when he didn't know what he was to her-and she to him? It didn't seem honorable to give her false hope that he might recover his memories and enable them to resume a relationship, if that's what they had had together in the past, nor did it seem honorable to encourage feelings in her while there were still holes in his memory, a past he didn't understand, and unresolved feelings for Milah. What if his memories returned later and changed what they had built together? It might destroy them both.

And Killian sensed with a certainty that he couldn't handle another heartbreak like the shock of waking to find Milah dead.

It was true, he decided. He was torturing Emma. Torturing both of them, just by her presence here. Damned if he knew why. But something had snapped in him last night, after they'd shared such a searing kiss, after he'd witnessed such peace and vulnerability on her face while she slept on his bed. He couldn't go on like he had been, and yet he wasn't certain how to move forward.

Killian Jones wasn't typically a praying man. Quite often he only acknowledged the gods of sea and sky when it might give him an advantage, say during a sudden squall in the ocean. But he had had enough. If there was the slightest chance the old gods did exist, that something out there might hear him and acknowledge what he was going through, he would take it.

For the first time in perhaps centuries-who could say for certain with all his memory gaps-Killian prayed. For his missing memories of Milah to return. For any of his memories of Swan to return. For both. For just some simple gods-damned control over his own life.

"Captain?"

He glanced up, blinking at Emma. "Beg your pardon? You'll have to repeat that. I was lost in thought."

"Um, I just told you that I'm finished mending the sails you gave me."

His eyes widened in surprise, impressed. Despite the later start to her day, and as sick as she felt in the aftermath of her overindulgence of alcohol, Emma had already accomplished a lot for her first day as part of his crew. The knots had given her a bit of trouble when he showed her how to make them, her coordination still somewhat lacking in her condition, but all in all, they weren't half bad for her first attempts. Pounding oakum into the floors belowdecks where Killian had yet to refinish proved an easier task for her, though more time-consuming, and Swan had seemed more alert after the endeavor, her eyes brighter and her skin covered in a rather attractive sheen of sweat.

But mending the ripped sails that Eric had removed from the rigging? Killian had assigned that to her for no other reason than to annoy her. He felt almost resentful that this woman, who seemed to know him on a level he found almost disconcerting, and whom he knew almost nothing about, should evoke such a storm of emotions and conflicted thoughts from him. One moment it was all he could do not to throttle her, the next it was all he could do not to kiss her until their minds exploded.

Perhaps it was this frustration, this inability to resolve their complicated relationship one way or another that drove him to be such a stern taskmaster with her at turns. But there was another portion of Killian which knew the truth: that he was testing her mettle, her character, in every task she did. The way a person went about his work told you as much about him as the quality and demeanor with which he executed it. He was getting to know the Swan woman in the only reasonable or comfortable means available to him at present. And that, Killian finally realized, was why he had made a split second decision to draft her into his crew and push her so hard.

"That was quicker than I thought," he mused, grateful for the distraction his job as Captain gave him. Perhaps it might actually be safe to stand up in a few more minutes. "You're something else Swan, you know that? More efficient by far when you're hungover than most of my crewman ever were when sober."

"Thanks?" It sounded more like a question than it should have, he decided. Yet judging from the surprise reflected in her eyes and the slight flush on her cheeks, her capabilities weren't often complimented. Certainly he'd gotten a more positive reaction out of her by far with his praise for her work than he ever did with his innuendos and flirting. He mused over this notion, filing it away for later reflection. What on earth had happened in his Swan's life that no one acknowledged how brilliant she really was?

His Swan? he thought with some surprise.

His. The confirmation washed over him, threatening to drown him in its undertow. He knew it of a certainty, though he couldn't pinpoint the reasons why.

Gods damn it all.

Killian pushed his chair back with force, hoping it was safe to walk about now. He needed the comforting, salty tang of ocean air to deal with a revelation such as this. "Come along, Swan," he managed, sweeping past her, hoping she didn't notice the way his voice shook. "Time you took your turn at the helm. Can't have a second mate who doesn't know how to sail properly. It would be an embarrassment, that."

He opened the door to his cabin and climbed up the short flight of stairs to the main deck. Emma clambered up the steps after him. "Wait- _second_  mate?" she spluttered.

He turned to her with a grin. "Vying for first then, are we?" He arched a brow, stepping closer to her, his head bent down toward hers. His voice turned husky, and he found himself flirting, despite the warnings his brain screamed at him about the wisdom of doing so, "I'm afraid you'll have to learn a lot more about my ship and how to please your Captain for that, Swan."

Her eyebrows shot upward in surprise, her expression a captivating mixture of stunned and vulnerable, with just the barest edge of hope.

But the moment passed all too quickly, and wary suspicion entered her eyes as she stepped back, putting an invisible but nonetheless impenetrable wall between them again. Killian wanted to kick himself. What the hell was he doing? What had he been thinking? The situation between them was awkward enough without him complicating it further.

He cleared his throat. "After all," he said, turning away, "Eric's a seasoned sailor with decades more experience than you."

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" she hissed as they crossed the deck together, Emma lengthening her strides while Killian shortened his own. "I thought I was part of the regular crew."

"Yes, well, if you haven't noticed, darling, we're rather short-handed at the moment. You'll do, for the time being." He turned his attention to the dark-haired sailor that manned the large wheel which comprised the ship's helm. "Eric," he ordered, "come about."

The prince turned the wheel accordingly, maintaining a similar course but shifting the sails to catch the wind from the other side. "Watch your head, Swan," Killian warned as the enormous boom of the mainmast shifted over their heads. He crouched his head instinctively, pressing gently on the nape of Emma's neck, encouraging her to do the same. She took the hint and ducked with just enough clearance that she didn't get knocked out cold.

She straightened, eyeing the boom warily after it passed. "Don't worry, Swan," he assured her. "It'll be habit before long."

"Habit?" she echoed incredulously. "Just how often do you plan to take me out to sea on your ship as one of your crewman?"

Killian had no easy, comfortable answer for this. It wasn't something he was prepared to answer just yet. "Good crewman are hard to come by," he recovered after a moment. "Who knows. I might have need of you someday." He glanced at his erstwhile roommate, whose posture was just relaxed enough to betray the fact that he was eavesdropping while attempting to appear preoccupied. "Lagerkron," he growled, "it's Swan's turn at the helm. You have some rigging to tar, aye?"

"Aye, Captain," he replied easily, stepping away from the helm. His icy blue eyes flicked from Killian to Emma. He tilted his head toward the helm just a fraction and gave Killian a significant look. The barest hint of a smile crossed his features, humor sparking in his eyes. He swept past them without another word, and Killian watched him retreat, eyes narrowed.

"What was that about?" Emma wondered.

"Let's just say His Highness takes great pleasure in his own private jokes," he deflected. "Go on, then," he directed her with a jerk of his head. "Take the helm; see how she feels."

Emma stepped close to the helm and grasped two of the handles in her hand, a frown on her face. "It's heavier than I remember."

He eyed her sidelong. "Is that so?" When had she ever manned the helm of his ship?

"Yeah," she answered absently, staring out at the sea. "It was raining and we were-" She stopped abruptly, turning to look at him with a wry smile. "Nice try."

"Can't blame a man for trying, love," he smiled. "Pirate and all that." He watched her for a moment, debating with himself whether she would welcome his help. If he had learned anything about Emma Swan in the past few weeks, it was that she was proud and fiercely independent. Yet as attractive and arousing as those qualities were, Killian had observed that she also had a rather wide streak of stubbornness that, when combined with pride and independence, often prevented her from accepting help. Emma wanted to do things on her own terms. And while he respected that, he thought it rather a shame that she didn't give herself the option to lean on anyone else or their expertise.

"Yeah?" she interrupted his thoughts, without tearing her gaze from the ocean. "You have something to say?"

"How well you know me, Swan," he observed with a smile. "It's unfair, really." He edged closer to her, closing the gap between them as he placed his arms around her waist. "Your form could use some work, though. No slouching at the helm. The captain and his immediate officers must never show doubt or weakness. They must maintain at least the illusion of confidence at all times."

"Well that explains a lot about you," she grinned, making no move to extricate herself from him. "Mr. Overconfident."

Killian swallowed and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Yes, well it's not so amusing, sweetheart, if you end up with a mutiny on your hands because you showed weakness. So," he said, gently pressing the small of her back with his good hand, urging her spine into better alignment, ghosting his fingers across her shoulders, pulling them back, "you stand like you can take on all the gods-damned demons of hell if you must." He released her, the heat of her skin seared onto his fingertips, and noticed how tightly she gripped the wheel's handles, her knuckles whitened. "Swan, relax." He leaned over her, his head hovering over her shoulder, dangerously close to the delicate, sweet-smelling expanse of her lovely neck. Killian closed his eyes, trying to assert control over the out-of-control desires that flashed through his mind. And though he intended to speak with firm authority as he placed his arms parallel to own, covering her hand with his own, the cool metal of his hook resting flat against the other, his voice had a breathy quality when he said, "Gently, like a lover." Her eyelashes fluttered in response, and Killian felt his heart thump harder. "You don't need to choke the life out of it, sweetheart. It's not attacking you," he instructed. "Relax," he murmured in her ear. "Trust the ship."

"Hook," she protested weakly, "it's just a ship. I don't-"

He swallowed thickly and pulled away. "She isn't just a ship, she's  _my_  ship," he growled. "And I'll ask you to speak of her with the respect she deserves, or I'll have you scrub every inch of that brig from the inside, Swan." He clenched his hand together. "And we're back to Hook, now, is it?"

"My apologies,  _Captain_ ," she emphasized with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. "I won't take the liberty again."

"You're lucky I don't keelhaul you for your insolence."

"Go ahead," she snapped with a bitterness that surprised him. Then, in a softer tone, as if she regretted her words, "You asked me to call you that."

Killian sighed. "Aye. That I did."

_**Storybrooke, a week and a half earlier** _

_Killian sipped at his tea again, uncertain how to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. He never knew what to say to her these days. Every word that came out of his mouth seemed to upset her. He couldn't make a single remark about anything without accidentally reminding her of some mysterious event in the past, or triggering some painful emotion. He hated it. And sometimes he almost hated her for it. Killian was tired of walking on eggshells around Swan. Tired of worrying about upsetting_ her _when he was the one who with all the reasons to be upset._

_She wasn't the one whose life had been wrested away from her in a very ugly accident. Hadn't been the one who had been forced to listen to that ass of a doctor jaw on about oxygen deprivation and the damage it did to the brain as a result of it. Wasn't forced to listen to the cold, hard truth that prolonged deprivation, such as in his case, might mean that he wouldn't ever recover all of his memories. Perhaps none at all._

_Emma had no idea what it was like to wake so frequently throughout the night, soaked in sweat, disturbed by nightmares about a place he couldn't remember properly the moment he was conscious. Didn't understand how frustrating it was to have some of those memories, no matter how unpleasant or potentially frightening, within his grasp, only to have them slip out of his fingers the moment he awoke. How ridiculous it felt to be so very afraid of his dreams that he spent most of his nights immersed in activity until he passed out from sheer exhaustion, falling into a fitful slumber._

_How euphoric it felt on the rare morning he awoke at peace, fully rested, after a reprieve._

_"They keep asking about you," she finally said, breaking the silence. "They want to know when they can visit."_

_He winced. "So you've said."_

_"Are you going to let them?"_

_"I don't know," he hedged. "What bloody good would it do?"_

_"Well, for one thing," she snapped, "maybe it would help you pull your head out of your ass and stop feeling sorry for yourself."_

_He glowered at her over his cup of tea. "Says the woman who never talks about her feelings at all."_

_She glared at him, uncrossing her arms, assuming a defensive stance. "Excuse me?"_

_"Come on, Emma," he spat out, setting his cup down with a thump. Tea sloshed out of the mug onto the table, and he stared at the puddle, irritated. "I'm not stupid. I know you want something from me, even if I can't figure out quite what. If you would just bloody tell me-"_

_"Dr. Whale wants you to recover your memories by yourself," she reminded him, looking away, unable to meet his gaze._

_Killian snorted. "And that's working so bloody well right now." He shook his head. "I know they want to see me-your parents, my other acquaintances...but I can't do that right now. I'm not ready. I-it's confusing enough without more people complicating this."_

_She frowned, her expression mildly hurt. Killian hated himself for doing that to her. "Do I complicate things?"_

_He hesitated, uncertain what to say to her. She didn't just complicate his life. She was_ the _complication in his life. The puzzle he couldn't solve, the knot he couldn't untie, no matter how hard he tried. And what hurt even more was the fact that he knew he was the complication in hers, the thing that dragged her down and stole away her smiles, her laughter, her hope in the future. She deserved better than that._

_"Killian?" she said sharply. "Do I?"_

_He closed his eyes, hating himself for the words he uttered next. "Don't call me that."_

_"What?"_

_"Don't call me Killian," he insisted. "Not anymore. It's Hook."_

_She stared at him for several agonizing minutes, as if she hadn't heard his words at all. "Fine," she said harshly, picking up the jacket she'd folded over a chair. "If that's how you want it." She pulled her blonde locks loose from the collar, shrugging it into place. "See you around,_ Hook _," she sneered, storming out of his cabin._

_And just that quickly, just that simply, he drove her out of his life. As he'd intended._

_But it hurt like hell just the same._

Killian shook himself as the memory faded. What a bloody selfish fool he'd been. Pushing Swan out of his life hadn't relieved the pressure to remember. Not by far. As the days had dragged on and the reality set in that she wasn't coming back, Killian had arrived at the awful, ugly realization that most of the pressure he'd been feeling to recover his memories hadn't come from Swan at all, but himself.

And he hadn't been able to escape himself, his misery no matter how hard he tried. Swan had brought small moments of peace, levity, even humor into his life; she had made things bearable, and he'd been too thick to realize it until she'd kept her distance for a week.

"Perhaps I've changed my mind."

She peered over her shoulder, her expression caught between shock and hope. Killian couldn't stand the sight of it. He couldn't do this. Not now. He needed more time to think, to understand what all of this meant. Figure out who and what he really wanted.

"I'll be in my cabin. Eric's about if you need anything. I'll relieve you at the end of the watch and take us the rest of the way home." He strode across the deck, a tempest of emotions raging inside of him. If only he could remember something-just one sodding thing-perhaps he might not make such a bloody mess of things with Swan. But the longer his memories eluded him, the more he doubted that they would ever come back. A fear he suspected Emma shared.

He had no bloody idea what either of them would do if his memories didn't return. But Killian knew one thing. Whoever she was, whatever she was to him, she made his life better. And couldn't lose her again.

"Cheer up, love," he called to her with a wan smile as he paused outside the door of his cabin. "You have a beautiful smile."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Buckle up and get ready. The next chapter is the pivotal point of the entire fic. Something major is going to happen for Killian, and he will have a breakthrough of sorts. Can you guess who and what it will be? It isn't Emma that triggers it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The lengthiest chapter I've produced yet.

A knock sounded on the cabin door. Emma looked up, startled. "Uh, come in?" she said, feeling odd about giving Killian permission to enter his own quarters. She appreciated the privacy given to her during the rather awkward phone call she'd just made, but it didn't seem right, somehow, to keep Killian out. The room was permeated with his presence, practically hummed with it, even when he was absent.

The door opened, and the handsome devil himself stepped into the room, an uncertain expression on his features. "Everything all right, lass?"

"It's fine," she assured him. "That actually went better than I thought."

"So I need not worry about waking in the night to find an angry father with a knife pressed to my throat?"

"Well," she hedged, "I wouldn't discount the possibility completely." Killian raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk sliding across his features. "But I think Mary-Margaret will hold him at bay for tonight, unless they have reason to think you've hurt me. But I think you'd be more likely to wake up with an arrow in your balls and find  _her_  standing over you, with another arrow nocked and pointed at your heart, if that were the case. David would just take care of her leavings."

"So noted," he grinned. "Tell me, love do you always call your parents by their given names?"

"I did until recently," she admitted uncomfortably. "It's a long story, but I grew up without them, and we only reconnected after my twenty-eighth birthday." Emma hated being so vague, but she wasn't certain if speaking about Storybrooke's old curse was a verboten topic with Killian. It didn't seem like a problem, on the surface. Killian hadn't been around for that. Maybe she'd call Whale tomorrow and ask.

"Ah," he said, stepping closer to where she sat at the map-covered table. "The curse?" She peered up at him in surprise. "Whale filled me in on a few things," he said defensively. "You can't just tell a chap his lover died well over three hundred years ago, and that he's living in a new realm, with no recollection of how he arrived there, without explaining a few things to him. Particularly when there are so many strange things in the realm that people insist have nothing to do with magic. Moving pictures and the like."

Emma blinked. "So that's why you keep to your ship so much," she blurted out. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize," she said sympathetically. "It must be overwhelming , what with your-" She faltered.

"Go ahead. You can say it."

"Killian."

"My memory loss," he finished for her firmly. "Emma, we've tiptoed around reality for weeks, pretending a problem isn't there, when it's as bloody obvious as my missing hand. And it hasn't gotten us anywhere pleasant." He inhaled. "Or comfortable." Blue eyes sought her own. "So maybe it's time to stop avoiding the subject."

Emma held his gaze. His cobalt eyes shone with sincerity, and yet there was a guardedness to his expression, as if he wasn't certain how his words would be received. She couldn't blame him, given everything they had been through the last several weeks. The both bore a share of the blame for the tensions the past few weeks, she knew, but in her most vulnerable moments Emma couldn't help but feel that none of it would even be an issue if she had just realized her feelings for Killian sooner; if she had just been honest with herself about that kiss in Neverland; if she had just  _chosen_  Killian, working with him as a team, instead of putting her decision off under the assumption that the pirate would only distract her from her goal of rescuing Henry, rather than sharpen her focus or augment her efforts. She hadn't given him enough credit. Not by far. Not when it came to Henry, nor when it came to his dedication to better himself. Well, he'd proven he wrong on all accounts, and then some, hadn't he?

And paid for it with his life.

All her fault. His death, his rebirth, and thus his memory loss. She was responsible for their current situation, and it hurt. Hurt to see him so confused and uncertain of himself at times, where the cocky, flirtatious pirate used to be the norm. Hurt to think that she might have damaged him in bringing him back, changed him forever, if his memories were never recovered. And it was beginning to look as though they might not.

She'd stopped visiting Killian as much from the guilt she had carried around for the past several weeks, as the hurt he had inflicted when he'd insisted she return to calling him Hook. It had just been the straw that broke the camel's back, knowing that all the problems she had caused him had only led to him pushing her away. And she hadn't been able to blame him, not a bit. Gold always said magic came with a price; what if bringing him back from the dead had meant not just the loss of her magic, but the loss of his love? She'd been scared, so scared of the possibility for weeks. It made perfect sense, after Gold's strong implication that her magic  _and_  her love had worked together to bring Killian back to life.

Of  _course_  she had tiptoed around the subject of his memory loss. Even this weekend, with thing taking a turn for the better, she had been cautious. Killian's gradually reappearing flirtatiousness had relieved her, as well as the occasional flashes of his old humor, but all of that could be attributed to his basic personality, she knew. As good as it was that it was returning, it didn't necessarily signal any real feeling toward  _her_. And Eric's suspicions about Killian's feelings toward her be damned; that was no guarantee the pirate would act on them, given his renewed mourning of Milah.

But now? Now Killian had given her a glimmer of real hope.

He'd asked her to call him Killian again. And she had, even though opening herself up to being hurt by him again scared her like hell. She'd done it, because she loved him. And she trusted him, deep down, regardless of the complicated circumstances they found themselves in currently.

"All right," she answered at last, her voice cracking from the sudden dryness of her throat. Perhaps it was time to put herself out there in another way, to confront her demons in the same way Killian appeared he was trying to do. "All right."

Something like relief flickered in his blue eyes, and Emma looked away, biting her lower lip. She wouldn't break down now. Not here, where he'd ask so many questions, try to soothe her. Not when she might hurt him or scare him away again with the strength of her feelings. She couldn't- _wouldn't_ -take that risk. Not when there was a chance, however small, that he might grow to return her feelings again. Slow. Cautious. That's how she needed to proceed.

The sound of liquid being poured made her look up. Killian held out a cup half-filled with rum. She smiled slightly, accepting it. How similar the ritual was to their first shared drink, on the way to Neverland.

Killian poured his own drink, watching her thoughtfully. "Well, love," he said, breaking the silence again, "What shall we drink to this time?" She looked up at him, eyes wide. He offered her a rueful smile. "Educated guess, I'm afraid. You said as much at the hospital that this was a common occurrence with us."

"Something like that," she agreed with a nod, trying to squelch the surge of disappointment in her gut.

"Then," he said, looking down at her with his impossibly blue eyes, his expression meaningful, "to familiar memories."

And Emma knew without being told that he meant the recovery of his old ones as well as the making of new ones together.

"To familiar memories," she agreed.

And when the porcelain of their cups clinked together, Emma felt something warm envelop her, almost like a breeze. But when she looked around afterward, when their cups were empty and the moved to join Eric in the galley for dinner, she realized that the door to Killian's cabin had been latched firmly shut the entire time.

* * *

Emma didn't want to return to Killian's cabin and go to sleep. It wasn't simply that she didn't want the day to end, though there was that. As grueling and frustrating as the majority of it had been, the little moments where she and Killian had reconnected made the whole of it worthwhile. No, Emma couldn't face sleeping in Killian's cabin, much less in the same bed where he had once lain cold and lifeless. Not when she was sober. Not when she still had nightmares about that moment.

Really, it shouldn't even have been an issue. Crew slept further below, in an open cabin in the belly of the ship, while the captain slept in a private cabin at the stern of the ship, off the main deck, near the helm. She was crew, he was captain. Ergo, she should sleep in the crew's quarters tonight, with Eric, as she was no longer intoxicated. But no, Killian had to be a stubborn-ass gentleman about the whole situation.

"You're being ridiculous," she told him as they leaned over the ship's railing, dinner long since finished. Killian shot her a mildly offended look, but Emma ignored it and pressed her point. "Come on, it's not like Eric and I are going to jump each other's bones the minute we're alone down there," she complained. His expression became puzzled. "Have sex," she translated. "We're not going to have sex."

"I should bloody well hope not," he muttered almost inaudibly, his expression darkening.

Under any other circumstance, she might have felt elated at this glimmer of jealousy, but at the moment, all Emma felt was annoyed. "Come on, just admit it. If it were anyone else, this wouldn't be an issue."

"Yes," he said, with surprising force. "The last woman in my crew was my lover, so her reputation and sleeping arrangements weren't an issue. But," he said with a searching gaze that sent a jolt through her, " _we_  are not lovers." The statement didn't sound quite a declaration, but more like a question. Emma swallowed and held her breath. "So," he went on, "as a gentleman  _and_  your captain, it falls to me to make suitable arrangements. And as I've no desire to anger your father or wake with an arrow in my balls, as you so eloquently described earlier, you will be sleeping in my cabin tonight, crewman Swan, and I will bunk below again."

"Killian-"

"That's an order," he said shortly. Emma glowered at him for a moment and spun on her heel to stalk away, but Killian captured her wrist and pulled her back to him again. "Not so fast, Swan," he murmured, the heat of his breath on her throat, "what's this really all about?"

"I  _told_  you-"

He laid a finger on her lips. The intimate contact made Emma shiver. "My ship, my rules," he reminded her. "As a crewman, and especially as second mate, you are sworn to obey my orders, no matter what. Now," he tried again, removing his finger from her mouth, "what's bothering you?"

"I  _can't_  sleep in your cabin," she admitted with a shudder. "I can't."

Killian's hand slid up and down her shoulder in a soothing motion. "Why not? You were fine last night."

"Last night I was drunk off my ass," she pointed out, trying to ignore the warm tingling sensation his touch evoke, how her body screamed with the need to melt into his.

"And...what has happened in there that you cannot bear to stay in there a night, sober?" he inquired, the hesitation in his voice mirrored in his blue eyes.

"I-um," Emma floundered. She couldn't tell him the truth; not the whole truth, anyway. If there was one thing, one memory above all others that Whale had emphasized not to let slip to Killian, it was his death. Something that jarring, that unexpected, absolutely  _had_  to be recovered by Killian himself. If someone else revealed a memory that permeated with emotion, that momentous, it might send him into shock, with unpredictable physiological and mental repercussions.

"Ah," she began again, "that's where I, um, found you. Severely injured. They'd laid you out on the bed, and-" The memory of his still, lifeless form invaded her thoughts until it was all she could see. "I-It was dark, and I thought I'd lost you."

A tear slipped from her left eye, and she scrubbed at it out of habit. Pretending she wasn't crying had become all too commonplace these days. Ever since her magic had burned itself up, she had a damned difficult time controlling them, from keeping her own emotions, and those of others, at bay.

From keeping other people  _out_.

Strong arms wrapped around her, and she stiffened for a moment at the close press of Killian's body to hers. It felt good. All too good. She didn't trust herself not to take advantage of him in this state; desperation and neediness wasn't how she had wanted them to come together. She started to pull away, but Killian tightened his grip. Emma kept her gaze lowered, but she could feel him looking at her all the same. "Shh," he intoned, merely a breath above a whisper, his hand stroking her hair, "it's all right, love. I'm still here. I didn't leave you," he reassured, and Emma choked back a cry that yes, he  _had_  left her; she'd lost Killian, and half her world with him, for the space of more minutes than she could ever bear to calculate.

"It's all right," he continued, oblivious to the storm of conflicted emotions vying for dominance in Emma right now. His thumb slid across one cheek, then the other, brushing away the tears. He pushed her chin up, their gazes colliding. Blue eyes watched her with a mixture of concern and affection. "I'm still here," he repeated. "Concentrate on the  _good_  memories, Emma. Not the bad ones."

She laughed shortly. "You sound like my father."

"Swan, take that back!" he groaned, rolling his eyes, a playful smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"No," she teased, grateful for the excuse to lighten the mood. "Why should I?" She tapped him on the nose playfully.

"Because," he insisted, his jaw tightening.

"Because why?" she asked, noticing the change and feeling amused that she was getting to him.

"Because then it would feel wrong to do this," he breathed, brushing his lips across hers, feather-soft but filled with the heat of unspoken desire.

Emma jerked away, forcing Killian to release her. "I-I, uh, that was-we shouldn't-"

"I'm sorry," he apologized softly, "if I've made you uncomfortable."

"No!" she practically shouted, her mind flashing back to Neverland and the mistake she'd made in pretending that kiss hadn't affected her. Emma wasn't about to make that mistake again. "No! It's not that at all! I-it's nice, I like it."

"But?" He watched her with a resigned expression.

"But I can't trust myself right now," she admitted.

He blinked. "I see." An amused smile flickered across his features, disappearing almost before it materialized. He considered her for several moments, the silence stretching between them, and Emma wondered what he was thinking. "Perhaps you're right," he concluded after a time. "Your pardon for taking advantage," he murmured, averting his gaze.

She stifled a laugh.  _He_  was worried about taking advantage? She felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment at the thought of what she'd like to do to him (far more than a light kiss, that was for certain). "No," she stuttered, struggling to rid her mind of the unwholesome images flitting through it, "it's-well, the situation isn't ideal."

He looked up, the ghost of a smile on his face. "No," he agreed, "particularly as you're still working for me tomorrow. I suppose this makes things a bit more awkward in that regard."

"I don't know," she found herself saying, her voice taking on a flirty tone she almost didn't recognize, for all that she'd so seldom used it in the past decade, "it could be fun." She peered up at him through her lashes, flustered and uncertain of herself.

Killian swallowed, his expression arrested. "I learn more interesting things about you every day, Swan," he said, his voice nearly a purr and not quite a growl. "I'll not make you slumber in my cabin tonight," he promised. "Alone," he added.

She stared, her jaw slackening a bit. "What?"

"My dreams are...unpleasant most nights," he revealed. "Perhaps it might help both of us to have someone nearby who understands."

Emma couldn't believe her ears. "Wait a minute, do you really think that's appropriate considering our working situation, or what just happened?"

"I believe you just confessed that mixing work with... _fun_...might be enjoyable," he teased with his familiar grin. "Not to worry, Swan, I'll be a perfect gentleman."

"You'd better," she smiled. "And hey, what happened to not giving my parents a reason to shoot you in the nuts?"

"I'll use you as a shield," he winked, stepping toward her again. "They wouldn't dare shoot their own daughter."

"Use me as your shield and you won't have to worry about my parents," she groused without any real conviction.

"Ooh, feisty," he said with a smirk, slipping his hand into hers. His grasp was somewhat tentative at first, then more confident when she made no move to pull away. "Come, Swan. It's late, and we have a long day tomorrow." He pulled her toward the cabin.

Emma thought of several jokes she could make, but swallowed them all as she entered the chamber after him. The room felt about ten times smaller than usual, and it wasn't as if it had ever been a palace to begin with. She cast about the room awkwardly, nerves taut, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of it, while Killian rummaged through a set of drawers.

"Here," he said, handing her a white garment.

She unfolded it, eyeing the long, somewhat frilly gown. Trimmed with lace and accented with pink ribbon, it wasn't exactly to her taste, but it would be more comfortable than sleeping in her clothes again. And if it wasn't her style, apparently it had been Milah's, and she wasn't about to hurt him by complaining about it. Even if the idea of wearing Milah's old gown felt really strange. "Thanks. Uh-"

"Perfect gentleman," he reminded her, turning his back. "Say the word when you're finished. And no peeking, Swan," he teased. "I'll be changing, myself."

Emma rolled her eyes and turned toward the other wall, stripping out of her clothes, piece by piece. She reached for the gown, bunching it up, and pulled her head through the neck hole. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and let the rest of the fabric fall to her ankles. Smoothing it into place, she pulled her hair free and turned her attention to the intricate set of laces that were apparently used to fasten the bodice closed. She fumbled with it for a few minutes, the starched laces stiff and unyielding to her fingers, but finally managed to close the gown modestly enough to suit her.

"I'm finished," she informed him.

"Good. So am I."

Emma spun on her heel to face him, and stared. Killian leaned with one shoulder against wall, clad in a pair of loose, black cloth trousers and a white shirt with flowing sleeves that were gathered together at the wrist cuffs. The neckline was open, ties hanging down uselessly, revealing the usual patch of black chest hair. He straightened to his full height, crossing his arms with a smirk. "Disappointed, Swan?" he asked with an arch of his brow.

"You wish," she snorted without conviction.

"Perhaps, " he admitted with a leer, "but best behavior and all," he reminded her. He shrugged casually, but his eyes shone with humor. He moved toward the bed, his eyes riveted on her as they traveled up and down her figure with appreciation. "Milady." He gestured toward the bed.

Emma eyed the narrow bed warily, trying to block out the onslaught of bad memories it evoked. "So, what?" she tried to distract herself. "You're just going to sleep on the floor?"

"Unless you'd prefer other arrangements," he smiled smugly, removing an extra blanket from a drawer.

"Please," she muttered, absently. "There's barely room for one. How the hell did you and Milah fit on there together without pushing each other off, anyway?" Killian's face fell, his expression darkening. "Hey-I'm sorry," she said with chagrin. "I didn't mean to be so insensitive. I wasn't thinking."

"It's fine," he said flatly. He removed his hook with a soft click and placed it on the nightstand. "Good night, Swan."

Emma inhaled slowly, and climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over herself, all the bad memories temporarily forgotten. The walls were back up. Why hadn't she just kept her mouth shut?

Killian settled onto the floor near the bed, staring up at the ceiling of his cabin as if it might bite him. Emma watched him for a moment, then picked up her pillow and chucked it at his head. "Hey!" he protested, pulling it off his face indignantly.

"The least I can do," she explained, grinning because it  _had_  been satisfying to throw it at him, no matter her real motivation. "Gotta be more comfortable than the floor."

"Yes," he agreed, "but what about you?"

"The mattress isn't made of rocks, you know," she huffed. "I think I can make it one night without a pillow. Just say 'thank you,' all right?" She flopped onto her back. "You gonna blow out that lamp or what?"

Killian sighed, standing up again. He shuffled over to the nightstand and snuffed the light. "My thanks," he said, after the room plunged into darkness. Floorboards creaked as he made his way back to his makeshift bed on the floor.

Emma pulled the covers up further, almost to her chin, and tried to push her thoughts elsewhere, anywhere but Killian's lifeless form spread out before her. She squeezed her eyes shut with determination, but it may as well have been tattooed there. "Good night, Killian," she managed.

Something moved against her side, patting the mattress, and a warm hand slipped into hers. "Good night," he told her in an entirely different tone. Emma closed her eyes, as reassured by the physical link to him as the gentle understanding that had been in his voice, letting her know he was aware of her struggle.

She fell into a rest sleep several moments later, still linked, all unknowing, to the pirate that lay awake in the dark.

* * *

_The sweltering heat of the jungle was almost unbearable. It was only by the grace of the dense foliage overhead that Emma wasn't completely covered in sweat or sunburned by now. Still... She swipe a hand across her forehead. "Did you really save his life?"_

_"Does that surprise you?" the dark-haired pirate deflected._

_"Well, you and David aren't exactly...how do you say it?_ Mates _," she emphasized, imitating his accent._

_Hook bowed his head briefly, his movements becoming fidgety. "That doesn't mean I'd leave him to perish on this island," he pointed out, turning to face her, his expression slightly offended._

_Emma fixed her gaze on him. "Thank you," she said sincerely._

_Hook sighed. He tucked his head down, tilting it to the side, first two fingers scratching beneath his earlobe. "Well. Perhaps gratitude is in order now," he said, tapping a finger against his lips as he leveled her with a seductively cunning gaze._

_"Yeah," Emma smiled in exasperated amusement, "that's what the 'thank you' was for."_

_"Hmm," he said, sidling closer, "is that all your father's life is worth to you?"_

_"Please," she told him with the ghost of a smirk and a shake of her head, "you couldn't handle it."_

_"Perhaps_ you're _the one who couldn't handle it," he shot back, his blue eyes brimming with the confidence of his challenge._

_Emma stared at him for a moment, shifting her jaw to the side, curious, and annoyed at her own curiosity. To hell with it, she thought vaguely, seizing him by the lapels of his leather coat and pressing her lips to his. They'd see just who couldn't handle it._

_Her fingers nestled into his hair, cradling his head. Him and that damnable messy hair, she thought vaguely. Surely the bastard was taunting her on purpose. It was messier and drove her more crazy each time she looked at it, fingers itching to comb through the locks._

_Hook froze for half a second, apparently stunned by her boldness, but not for long. His hand came up to cradle her own head, and Emma shifted her other hand back to his collar. He made a soft sigh of satisfaction, pulling away slightly before he tilted his head, changing the angle to deepen the kiss._

_Emma responded in kind._

_"That was..." Hook murmured, trailing off after they broke apart, gasping for breath._

_"Not nearly enough," she insisted, pulling him back toward her._

_They kissed again, this time with more hunger, more ferocity, so blind in their passion that Emma had Hook pinned against a tree before she knew it. She peeled the leather coat off of him, letting it fall to the jungle floor, and quickly divested him of his shirt, hands smoothing over the hard planes of his chest. She lifted the hem of her own grey tank top between kisses, pulled it over her head, and sent it flying God knew where, pressing herself into Hook's embrace, her chest pressing against his in a way that sent an electric jolt through her, despite the cloth of her bra that still separated their bare skin._

_"God, Emma," he said feverishly, planting a trail of kisses along the curve of her neck. She tilted her head, giving him better access as a dog barked faintly in the distance. "I-"_

_"Get off," he ordered suddenly, pulling away._

_"What?" She stared at him in confusion. "But-"_

_"Get off my ship," he insisted._

_"What? We're not on your ship," she retorted. "Hook." She laid a hand on his cheek as the barking grew louder. "Are you all right?"_

Emma jerked awake, peering at her surroundings in bleary confusion. It was several moments before she realized that the barking that rang in her head wasn't from the dream but from outside. "What the hell?" She threw back the covers and stood up, planting her feet on the bare floor. Male voices rose and fell, punctuated by the occasional bark, or the scratch of claw against wood. Emma winced. Killian had to be livid about that. She dressed with haste, leaving the nightgown in a wrinkled heap on the bed, promising herself she'd fold it neatly later.

When Emma emerged from the cabin a short time later, she found Killian standing on the deck near the helm, a bucket in his hand, bickering with Eric while an overexcited grey and white sheepdog roamed the deck, sniffing everything in sight. It spied her, though Emma wasn't certain how, through all the fur that covered its eyes, and bounded over to her. It leaped up to greet her, paws pressing on her, and licked her face with enthusiasm. "Ew! Hey!" she giggled in surprise. "Down, boy. I make it a rule not to let a handsome fella kiss me until I know his name." The dog obeyed, and she reached down to scratch it behind one ear.

"Lagerkron!" Killian complained with a growl, "now your dog-" he spat out the word as if it were dirty, "-is accosting my crew. I want it off my ship this instant. That's an order!"

Eric produced a polished wooden flute from one pocket and trilled a few notes on it. The dog abandoned Emma, returning to its master. She felt an odd sense of disappointment. She'd never had an animal of her own, moving from home to home in the foster system, and her unpredictable hours as a bail bondswoman hadn't been conducive to keeping a pet, either. But that didn't mean she hadn't wanted one.

"Heel, Max," Eric ordered, and the gigantic dog sat at his side obediently. "Good boy. You know better than to jump on people," he chided. "They staff have been letting you get sloppy in my absence."

"Oh, don't be too hard on him," Emma said, walking over to join them. "He's just excited. He hasn't seen you in a long time. Longer than he realizes, even." Killian shot her an offended look, as if he couldn't believe she'd take the dog's side.

"What?" she shrugged. "You don't like dogs?"

"No, the big, bad pirate prefers cats," Eric laughed.

"At least cats are useful in catching any rats on board," Killian argued, "and they can be trained not to shit all over my ship."

Eric rolled his eyes, ignoring this attempt to bait him. "Get him drunk and ask him about Whiskers," he advised, grinning at her.

"Whiskers?" she echoed, darting a glance at Killian, who was glaring at the sailor.

"She was my brother's cat," not mine, explained, though Emma had the feeling it was directed more at Eric than at herself. His words were gruff, but Emma didn't miss the way his expression softened just a bit when he spoke about the cat. "I couldn't just throw her off the ship when he died. That would be bad form."

"Right," the sailor snorted, "but  _dogs_ -"

"Hey, cool!" a youthful voice exclaimed. "A dog!" Emma's head jerked up. Henry was clambering up the gangplank with a delighted look on his face. "Whose is he?"  _What the hell? What is he doing here?_  she thought in wild confusion just before a loud thump distracted her.

The bucket had fallen out of Killian's hand, rolling across the deck, spilling seawater it went. The pirate stood still as a statue, staring at her son as if he'd seen a ghost.

"H-Henry?" he exclaimed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That was not supposed to happen. That kiss was absolutely not at all planned, but Killian apparently had other ideas, and that changed the ending of this chapter from what I had planned. Not to worry, the stuff will all get covered...just in a different way than I imagined. I thought about simply ending the chapter after they went to bed, since that would have made the chapter somewhat shorter, but I intended for Killian to get some memories back this chapter, so I wanted to end this chapter with at least the triggering event for that.
> 
> The good news is that because things turned out the way they did, you'll get a front seat for that experience, now, instead of only getting second-hand bits of it. So...yay?


	17. Chapter 17

_The sweltering heat of the jungle pressed in on Killian, rum his only barrier from its grasping, claustrophobic fingers. He sighed, satisfaction threading its way through every fiber of his being. Killian felt lighter, more unburdened than he had in centuries-_

-/-

_The wind blew the boy's shaggy brown hair, sweeping away with it Killian's dreams for the future. "I'd rather fend for myself than be with you! I want off this ship_ -pirate!"

-/-

_Crushing pain. Rage. Terrible rage. Leaking, pouring, pounding out of him with every drop of blood._

_Vengeance would be his._

-/-

_Smee eased the limp figure out of the dinghy and heaved it over the side of the Jolly Roger. Two of Killian's crewman caught the unconscious stranger and lowered him to the deck. Smee climbed out of the boat, his signature red cap still knocked askew from his efforts to aid Killian in the crew's earlier tussle with a school of mermaids. "No sign of the mermaids, Captain. Not even a single scale. I think we drove them all off." He scratched at his beard. "What were they doing, battering him about on Skull Rock? Who is he? How did he get to Neverland?"_

_Killian considered the stranger before him. Onyx hair plastered the man's face, his clothes but sopping rags that clung to his solid frame. He reminded Killian of a drowned rat._

_"All very good questions, Mr. Smee."_

-/-

_Killian regarded the squat, chubby man before him. "What's your name, Sailor?"_

_"William," he answered with a short nod, "William Smee." He glanced to his left, toward one of the crewman. "Can I have my hat?"_

_A reasonable enough request, Killian decided. If Mr. Smee was going to be a member of the Jolly Roger's crew, it wouldn't do to let resentment breed among his sailors, especially over something so minor as a hat. Best to start everything on good terms._

_And it would be bad form for Smee's fellow crewman to keep it. If there was anything Killian hated, it was bad form._

_He gestured for the crewman in question to surrender the hat. Barrow obeyed without question. Smee caught the hat and stretched it back over his head with a pleased expression._

_"Well, Mr. Smee," Killian said, holding the magic bean between his thumb and forefinger, "welcome aboard." Aiming carefully, Killian pitched the bean into sea. It arched out over the water, landing with a splash that was nearly undetectable. The water swirled, forming a whirlpool. He eyed it with mute satisfaction. "Harden up and get ready to set sail mates! There's bumpy seas ahead!" he yelled, grasping the rigging briefly as he climbed up onto the poop deck toward the helm._

_Smee followed at his heels. "What's the name of the place we're headed, Captain?"_

_Killian placed his hook into the brace he had had fashioned, securing it into place with an audible click. He grasped the helm with his remaining hand, turning it with a predatory smile. "Neverland!"_

-/-

_Eyes as cold and clear as chips of ice regarded him from behind the bars of the ship's brig. Hook snapped his fingers, pointing to the cell door. Smee hurried to unlock it, fumbling with the keys in his haste. "And how does this fine, clear morning find His Highness, hmm?" Killian greeted the dark-haired man. "Recovered from our last duel?" He stared pointedly at the dark circles under the prince's eyes. " No? Well, I imagine it must be difficult to obtain adequate rest, slumbering among the rats. My apologies for that, Your Highness. I'm afraid the ship's cat passed away some time ago. I suppose you'll have to carry on, despite your fatigue."_

_"Convenient." The prince smiled without warmth. "Determined that you can't best me otherwise, pirate?"_

_Killian matched his smirk with one of his own. The man was exceptionally irritating. He had a comeback for everything. Quite stubborn, too. It was as if he was a perfect hybrid between Killian and his deceased brother, Liam. In addition to their morning duels, Killian found himself dueling the prince with his wits far more often than even with his sword._

_And yet, he couldn't help but feel a measure of respect for the other man. Standing up to Killian and his crew of pirates... Most men would never have attempted it. Certainly not the typical, self-centered, arrogant, pampered princes Killian had encountered most of his life._

_"Well," Killian said, crossing his arms as the cell hinges squealed, Mr. Smee prying the rusted door open at last. "We shall see who bests whom in the end," he smirked. "If not today, I'll most likely kill you in tomorrow morning."_

-/-

_"What," the blond-haired adolescent smirked coldly, "a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem? I'm no grownup, but I'm pretty sure that's less than appealing."_

-/-

_"A plant?" Killian said in disbelief, staring at the paper Liam held. "We journeyed across the realms for a plant?"_

_Liam regarded him with patience. "Our sources say it's magical," he explained. "Potent enough to heal_ any _injury."_

_Killian processed his brother's words. "So we will never have to bury another sailor at sea again," he concluded._

_Liam held up the paper in agreement, as if toasting to the bright future the plant represented for their king, for them and their crew. "Now you understand the importance of our mission," he confided._

_"Are you two lost?"_

_They drew their swords as one, turning toward the stranger's voice. A blond youth, decked in green from head to toe, stood before them. He wore an expression on his face that managed to be both bored, sarcastic, and entertained all at once. "You look lost to me."_

_"Identify yourself, boy," Liam ordered in his most authoritative voice as Killian kept his sword trained on him._

_"I'm Peter. Peter Pan."_

-/-

_Killian gazed at the irritating, stubborn blond man collapsed on the ground before him. Although he knew his brother had been dead for centuries, all Killian could see for a moment was his brother's face, still and lifeless. Conviction resonated within him, settling deep within Killian's bones. He wouldn't bloody well let this happen again._

_He slung the satchel over his head, pulling his injured arm through, so that the strap rested across his torso. He glanced over his shoulder at the tangle of deadly thorns. "Bloody hell," he sighed, pulling a black kerchief over the lower half of his face. Killian drew his sword before his doubts could take root in him and grow to unmanageable proportions. He turned toward the deadly plant that stood between him and the duplicitously-natured life-saving water beyond._

_Using every bit of strength that he could muster, Killian chopped through the poisonous vines as if, in saving David, he might also step back in time and rewrite history to save his own brother..._

-/-

_Killian slumped against the wall of the Jewel, where Liam had collapsed into his arms. Sorrow and rage overwhelmed him. The only one who had ever cared, the only family he had had left after his mother died and his father abandoned them, was gone. Stolen from him._

_He cradled his brother's cold, still form tighter in his arms. He'd make that deceitful, immoral pig of a king pay._

-/-

_"One question," David insisted, clasping Killian's hand in gratitude, "Why risk your life for me when there wasn't anything for you in return?"_

_Faces flashed through Killian's mind in rapid succession. Liam. Emma. Henry._

_"Oh, I didn't do it for you, mate," he winked with a secretive smile._

-/-

_The silver metal of his hook glinted as Killian mustered his strength and raised it. "This is for Henry," he growled._

_And sank his hook into the unconscious demon-boy's heart._

-/-

"H-Henry?" Killian stared at the boy whose face had lingered in his memory after awakening in the hospital, his name and identity snapping into place again as the jumble of memories faded.

"Hook!" the boy beamed at him. "I haven't seen you in weeks! Mom said you were sick?"

"Aye," Killian said, sharing a glance with Emma. "But I think I'm starting to get better."

"Henry, what are you even doing here?" Emma interjected. "I thought you were with Regina all weekend."

"I am," he smiled, "but she had to take a call. She said I could take a walk, as long as I didn't wander too far."

"And the marina isn't too far?" Emma asked incredulously.

"Ah," Henry, "Eric cut in, glancing at Killian significantly, "maybe you'd like to help me take Max for a walk? I can drop you back off with Regina."

"Yeah, cool! Can I, Mom?"

Killian leaned over to his mate as Emma while Emma conversed with Henry."What about your own appointment?" he asked in a low tine.

"Grimsby's waiting at the end of the dock; I'll tell him to cancel for me. I can reschedule later. Besides," he went on, "Grimsby says I need to speak with some...loggers, I think he said...to sign some papers to prove I'm alive, and to free up all of my money that's been frozen since the curse broke."

"What the bloody hell do loggers have to do with money?" Killian wondered.

"I don't know," Eric admitted, scratching his head, "I guess they cut down the wood and made the building Grimsby says the money's stored in?"

Emma snorted behind them. They turned to look at her. "It's lawyers, not loggers," she laughed. "And it's called a bank." She shook her head. "Two of 'em," she muttered, "I don't know if Storybrooke can handle it."

"Perhaps  _you're_  the one who couldn't handle it," Killian responded instinctively.

She stopped laughing. The amusement drained from her face. Her leaf-green eye shone with such vulnerability and hope that it confused Killian. "What-what's that supposed to mean?" Emma asked in a soft voice.

Eric swept Henry away with one arm, urging him off the ship. "C'mon, Max," he told the dog, who followed after him loyally, "let's go. Henry, here, knows all the best places to go nose around, don't you?"

Killian dimly registered the sound of the boy's voice as he and Eric left the ship. "Did I say something amiss?" he finally asked after a moment of awkward silence.

Her expression became disappointed. "No. Just...nevermind."

"Something I was supposed to remember, I take it?" he said, wishing he wasn't always wounding her with his words, however unintentionally.

"Forget it," she insisted. "What-um, what _do_  you remember?"

"Bits and pieces. Connected to Neverland."

"Oh." Hurt flared in her eyes.

Stepping forward, Killian tentatively took her hands in his own. "Swan, I don't know what it is that you're waiting for me to remember, exactly, but," He brushed a lock of hair away from her face, "I have to know...Is Henry ours?"

Emma stared at him blankly. "Wait, what?"

"I take it that's a 'no'."

"He's mine and Neal's," she agreed.

He frowned. "And you and this Neal...?"

Her expression darkened. "Were over years ago," she finished for him.

"Well," he said, reaching up to toy with her hair again, his eyes carefully focused on her shoulder, "that's good to hear. I don't particularly like competition."

"Well, that's a new one," she laughed.

He blinked in confusion.

"Never mind. Like I said, it's over." Emma's expression softened. "Why did you think Henry was ours?"

"His face. He's one of the few things I remembered back in the hospital. That has to mean something. And...Neverland. I killed Pan for him. I remembered that."

"You did," she agreed with a sad smile. "Thank you."

"I sensed he wasn't mine by nature," Killian went on nervously, "but I thought-"

"No," she sighed. "We haven't raised him together, either."

Killian didn't know what to say to that. Disappointment warred with confusion until they melded together into a new, nameless emotion altogether. If Henry wasn't his son, then why had his face lingered in Killian's memories? Why had he sought the boy with an almost single-minded focus in Neverland? Why had his safety mattered so much? Why had his face flashed through his mind with Liam and Emma's, after he'd saved Charming? And why, he thought with consternation, did he feel an almost paternalistic protectiveness for Henry, when it seemed none was warranted?

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, taking in the sad expression on her face. "I shouldn't have said anything. It seems I'm even more confused than I was before I remembered anything."

"No," she shook her head vehemently, "No, I'm  _glad_  you care about Henry. I just...let's discuss get out of this wind and discuss the rest of your memories below deck, all right? This is going to take a while."

He smiled wanly. "As you wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, now that Killian has some of his memories back, where do you think they will go from here? What do you make of the memories he did get back?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: All righty, here we are! An update! I know it's been forever, and I'm super sorry about that, but I had some problems with this fic. I've known where I wanted to go with this chapter for a while, but when it came time to actually write it, certain things just weren't working anymore. So I decided to take a slightly different approach and split things up into different chapters. And I think this worked much better, so hopefully you will like the result! Happy reading!

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor startled her. Emma looked up to see her mother watching her with a pensive expression. She sat down, folding her arms on the table in front of her. "Do you want to talk about it?" she inquired softly. "You've been quiet all evening."

"There's nothing to talk about," she said flatly.

"Is that why your hot chocolate has sat on the table, untouched, for twenty minutes now?"  
 her mother asked softly, with a current of pointed firmness in her voice. "Emma, we both know that's not like you to let it grow cold."

Mary-Margaret waited for several moments, considering her in the silence. Emma shifted uncomfortably under her mother's scrutiny. They _used_ to talk, back before the curse was broken, and their real relationship to each other was unknown. It had been much simpler to open up when they were simply friends. Not that it was ever _easy_ for Emma to let anyone in. But it hadn't been quite this weird or difficult, back when she and Mary-Margaret  had been nothing more than roommates. Now there was a whole other, infinitely more complicated layer to their relationship, and it wasn't half as easy to open up about her feelings to the other woman now that she knew and acknowledged her as her mother. Particularly after said mother had witnessed one of the most raw and vulnerable moments of her life, in her loss and then saving of Killian. It made Emma feel naked, exposed, in a way that she didn't like.

On the other hand, Emma wavered, was there any point in holding anything back after a shared experience like that?

"Would it be easier to talk to your father?" her mother asked softly, her gaze focused on smoothing out every wrinkle in the blue checkered tablecloth that she could find.

Emma winced. She knew how much it must have cost her mother to voice that question. Yet she considered it all the same. It often _was_ easier to talk with her father, who tended to wait for Emma to approach him, rather than the reverse. Plus, they didn't have any of the lingering awkwardness from being former roommates who had shared details of their respective love lives with each other.

And Emma wanted to keep it that way.

"No," she shook her head, "not really. He and Killian, they...well..."

"Are friends," her mother nodded.

"Yes." Which was another sort of awkward altogether, so far as Emma was concerned. But her family wasn't normal, and never had been, she admitted to herself with reluctance. But they _were_ family. Something Emma had always longed for. And she couldn't push them away forever.

"Maybe you should just talk to Hook directly," her mother suggested, her eyes radiating a kindness and sympathy that Emma found reassuring. She relaxed a little. It was a mistake.

"I can't," Emma said, hating the tremor in her own voice. "I mean, I did, and--" She took a deep breath. "He remembers so many things about Neverland. Neal. Eric. _You_ ," she said, flicking a gaze toward her father as he wandered into the kitchen, making a beeline for the tea kettle.

David stopped in his tracks and stared at her. His expression shifted from surprised to enormously pleased within the blink of an eye. "He does?" he inquired hopefully. "You think he might be up for a beer in town?"

Mary-Margaret rolled her eyes. "David, now is _not_ the time for your bromance with Hook."                       

"My _what_?" he exclaimed with a faintly offended expression.

Emma snorted, ducking her head so he couldn't see her grin.

Pointedly ignoring her husband, Mary-Margaret eyed Emma thoughtfully. "But he still doesn't remember anything about you?" she guessed. "Or the two of you together?"

Emma nodded, grateful that her mother had articulated the heart of the matter so easily, saving her the awkward struggle of trying to put all that she was feeling into words. "Why doesn't he remember me?" she whispered. "I don't understand. Does he--is it not...?" She trailed off, unable to complete the thought that haunted her.

"Oh, Emma, of course not!" her mother said, leaning forward to place her hand on top of Emma's while David puttered around the kitchen, filling the kettle with water for tea. "You couldn't have brought him back if your feelings weren't real."

Emma frowned. " _My_ feelings. You heard what Gold said. Magic brought him back, not a--a kiss," she stuttered, skirting around the issue of true love's kiss. "It was me, my tears. My magic responded to what I felt, not anything he did. How could it? He was--" Her breath hitched painfully at the memory of him lying cold and still on that narrow bed in his darkened cabin, "--dead." She inhaled, trying to collect herself again. "I just--I don't know what to do."

"Oh." Mary-Margaret exchanged a look with David. "Well, uh, so have you? You know," she nodded at Emma significantly. "Tried it?"

She tapped her fingers against the ceramic mug, avoiding her mother's gaze. She and Killian had definitely kissed, but as much as they had both enjoyed it, nothing had happened to indicate that anything more than burning lust existed between them. And she sure as hell wasn't going to tell her parents that.

"It wouldn't matter if she had," David interjected, setting the kettle on the stove. He turned the burner on and turned to face Emma, leaning against the counter. "True love's kiss doesn't work if one of the person is suffering from memory loss." He flicked a glanced at Mary-Margaret, the ghost of a grin playing across his face. "The other person needs to remember who you are and how he or she feels about you," David went on, "or the response may be...less than enthusiastic," he finished dryly.

Mary-Margaret ducked her head in a manner that almost looked chagrined, a smile blooming across her face that stained her cheeks with a soft rosy hue.

A spark of hope ignited in Emma, but it was quickly doused by the reality of the situation she faced. "I don't know what we're doing, anymore." She stared down into the lukewarm depths of her drink, as if it might provide answers. "We can't keep going on the way we have. It isn't good for us. Even when things feel as if they're going well on the surface, there's this undercurrent of tension between us." _And not the good kind that would end up with us both naked against a hard surface,  either,_ she thought ruefully. "We just end up frustrated and hurt each other. I don't know what to do," she finished, swallowing around a lump in her throat.

She bit her lip, trying to ward off the tears that threatened. Damn out of control emotions. Emma hated feeling vulnerable. It had only led to being hurt, every time she had opened herself up. So she simply never let herself open up to anyone, after Neal. She'd thought she was being strong, overcoming parts of herself that she thought were weak, so that no one could ever take advantage of her again.

It had never occurred to her that she had been unconsciously suppressing her emotions altogether--least of all with magic that she didn't even know she had.

But now, with that magic gone, and looking very much as if it might never return, Emma was being forced to genuinely deal with her own emotions for the first time in literally more than a decade. And even if she knew it was healthy for her, required an even greater strength than pushing everyone out of her life, she didn't like it. Not at all.

"He seems to feel something for me," she said in a rush, certain that she wouldn't be able to get the words out otherwise, "but..."

"But is it true love?" her mother finished for her with a thoughtful look.

Emma nodded stiffly.

"His intentions were fairly serious, back in Neverland," her father said, interrupting the silence that had settled throughout the kitchen.

"He said that?" Emma blinked at him.

"Not in so many words, no," David admitted as the kettle began to whistle shrilly. He turned off the burner and rifled through a drawer for a pot holder. "But, uh, he made himself clear enough when we talked."

She narrowed her eyes. "You _talked_ to him about this?" David had the good grace to look embarrassed, at least. He lifted the hot kettle off the stove and removed it to the potholder he'd placed on the counter, to cool it off.

"Once or twice," he mumbled in reply, avoiding her gaze.

"Which was it?" she inquired, with annoyance.

"Twice," came the muffled reply as her father opened a cabinet and started rifling through boxes of tea. God knew why. They kept enough Earl Grey stocked to host tea time for an army.

Emma ground her teeth together. She exhaled with a hiss. "What the hell, dad! What gave you the right?"

He turned around to face her, his expression caught somewhere between pleased and somber. It was a fascinating combination, Emma thought with some detachment. "I'm your father. I want you to be happy." He held up a hand as she started to protest. "And it was sure as hell clear as day that Neal doesn't make you happy, back in Neverland. Hook does. But the moment Neal crawled out of that cage, Hook looked devastated."

"He's right," her mother spoke up. "Jealousy was eating him alive. Anyone could see it, if they paid attention."

"And he started pulling away from you," her father continued. "He thought you wanted to be with Neal, did you realize that? And he was perfectly willing to step out of the way for you two, if it would make _you_ happy," he said with a pointed gaze at Emma.

"I don't think he would ever do that if he didn't love you, Emma," Mary-Margaret pointed out. David nodded in agreement. "And he spent over three hundred years mourning the loss of his previous lover. This is a man who loves deeply, Emma. I'd be shocked if it _wasn't_ true love that he feels for you."

 She swallowed, considering her mother's words as David poured hot water into three ceramic mugs. "Okay, so...what do I do?" she appealed to her mother after a long silence, her earlier reluctance at taking her parents into her confidence dissipating with the quiet bloom of hope. "How do I get through to him, make him remember?"

David set a steaming mug of tea down in front of each of them. He sat down at the table with his own tea, blowing on the hot beverage with a contemplative look. "Emma," he said with some hesitation, "I think you're trying too hard, both of you. You're trying to force things, and that's why both of you are getting frustrated."

"He's right," her mother nodded, clasping her cup of tea in her hands. "You're taking the wrong approach."

"What?" She frowned. "How?"

"You shouldn't be trying to make him remember," Mary-Margaret said with a small laugh, "you should be trying to make him fall back in love with you. _Court_ him, Emma."

"What?" She made a face. "Like with carriage rides and flowers and stuff?"

Her mother rolled her eyes, a grin on her face. "It doesn't have to be like _that_ ," she assured Emma.  "Do the things he likes to do. Introduce him to things _you_ like to do. Just spend time with him. Not to remember anything, just to be together and get to know each other better. Without the pressure you're both putting on yourselves."  
  
Emma pondered her mother's advice. The happiest times she and Killian had had together since Neverland were spent sailing, when they simply left everything else behind, including all the complications that lay between them. "All right," she said with a calmness that she didn't at all feel, "but what about what Dr. Whale said? You know, about letting Killian remember things on his own, instead of telling him everything? Isn't taking him around Storybrooke to...court him...counterproductive to that?"

She just barely refrained from rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of the old-fashioned phrase. Dating. Dating was normal. It was fun. It was what regular, modern people from this realm did. But her parents, as much as they had adapted to this realm in other ways,  maintained a strangely old-fashioned mindset when it came to certain things. And while Emma supposed they couldn't really be faulted for it, considering where they really came from, it was odd nonetheless.

Mary-Margaret frowned. "Emma...I think you should talk to Dr. Whale again. That doesn't sound like him. Are you sure you didn't misunderstand?"

"No," she shook her head. "I don't think so. He specifically said that he didn't want anyone giving Killian his memories back. That he needed to remember things for himself. On his own."

"Well," her father said, sipping at his tea, "it couldn't hurt to speak with him anyway. You haven't checked in with him in a while anyway, have you?"

"No," she admitted. "I'll do it tomorrow morning." She stood up. "First I need to talk with Killian."

"Right now?" Her mother glanced up at the clock. "It's almost eleven o'clock!"

"I know, but if I don't do it now, I'll have talked myself out of all this by morning."

"All right," Mary-Margaret sighed in resignation. "Go. Just--be careful, all right?"

"I have my gun on me," she assured her mother. "And I am the Sheriff. It's not like I've never walked or driven around Storybrooke at night when I'm on patrol."

"I know, but I was your friend for most of that." She frowned down at her tea. "Not your mother."

Emma watched the other woman for a moment. It was nice to have people-- _family_ \--that cared about her, after so many years alone. More than worth any lingering awkwardness in their relationship, she decided. She bent down and hugged Mary-Margaret. "I'll be careful, Mom, I promise." Her mother shifted in her chair, eagerly returning the hug. Letting go after a few moments, Emma turned to her father and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Good," he smiled. "You'd better be. You're working the morning shift with me tomorrow."

"So noted," she said with a wry smile, walking backwards toward the door. She grabbed her red leather jacket off the coat rack. "I'll buy the coffee." She reached for the door and pried it open, hoping Hook wouldn't be asleep yet when she arrived at the docks.

"Wait! What about your tea?" she heard her father call as she pulled the door to the little apartment shut behind her.

"David," she heard her mother's muffled voice sigh in exasperation. "Honestly! Tea? At a time like this?"

"But it's Earl Grey..."

Emma chuckled all the way to her car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Me again. I'm not certain whether I will actually include Emma's talk with Whale, or if I'll simply allude to it in conversation between her and Killian, but I think the Charming family conversation was more important in some ways, and I wanted that to stand alone in this chapter, regardless. Snowing has some real experience with some of the stuff Emma and Killian are going through, and their advice is infinitely more practical and helpful to Emma at this point, the way I see it, than Whale clearing up some misconceptions she had about dealing with Killian's memory loss.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So here we have another update. I can't believe it's taken me so long to write one! The months really slipped away from me over the summer. I had some personal things to deal with during that time, that made it difficult to write, and I didn't realize it had been so long since I last updated. Hope you enjoy the new chapter! :)

Killian Jones awoke from his dream with a start, instinctively reaching for the hook that lay on his bedside table, before he realized that he hadn't removed his hook at all, but had dozed off while reading. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, wondering what about his dream had triggered such a response. It wasn't the first time he had fallen asleep with his hook on, but it always annoyed him to find that he had done so. There was always the underlying worry that he might harm himself or his belongings in his sleep, given some of his more disturbing dreams from his past. It hadn't been uncommon for him to lash out in his sleep, during his darker years in Neverland, where pain and loss and fear had permeated his dreams, usually in the specter of Pan. And it was Pan, he was certain, whom had haunted his dream tonight, though he could not recall the details.

He loosened the straps of his brace and removed it, hook and all. Emitting a small sigh of relief, he closed the book that lay open on his bed and returned it to its proper place on one of the bookshelves that hung over the bed. A knock sounded on the door. "Come in," he called absently.

The door opened, and Emma's familiar face appeared. Killian blinked at her. "Swan," he said, with mild surprise.  "What brings you here at this hour?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I wanted to talk to you about something, before I lost..." She trailed off as her eyes swept over him, lingering, Killian noted with amusement, just a fraction too long on his bare chest. "Ah, did I wake you?" she recovered with a little shake of her head. "I can come back tomorrow."

"No," he assured her, "I was already awake."

"Trouble with nightmares again?"

He nodded once. "Aye. Something about them feels familiar, but I can never remember any details after I wake up, to make sense of them...just the nagging sense that Pan was involved."

"Oh," she said, and Killian noted the subtle, guarded expression that crossed her face for a brief moment. "Well, you spent a long time in Neverland. It's only natural that you would dream about it from time to time," she reasoned.

"Perhaps," he agreed, "but enough about that. What did you wish to speak with me about?" Whatever it was, he thought, it had be fairly important, or why else would she not simply seek him out the next day? It was not as if he were difficult to find. He spent most of his time on his ship, busying himself with its maintenance and restoration.

At first, Killian had embraced the work for its familiarity, which allowed him the time and solitude (Eric's presence notwithstanding) to process the strange and difficult situation he had awakened to find himself in, several weeks ago. But now that the dust had settled, and the shock had worn off, it had become more of an outlet for his frustration and restlessness. That the work was also beneficial for Eric, who was wrestling with his own set of problems, was not lost on Killian, but the sailor had adjusted to life in the little coastal town of Storybrooke much better than Killian had, and ventured into town from time to time--at first, simply to drink his troubles away, but finally out of a fresh determination to build a new life for himself, with or without Ariel. Killian both admired and felt jealous of him for that. Eric had all of his memories, a foundation to build upon, and Killian...there were simply too many holes, too much unknown. Building a new life was difficult when he wasn't even certain about much of his past. And yet, he had no choice. His memories might never come back completely, and he couldn't hide out on his ship forever.

Killian needed to build a _new_ foundation.

"I, uh, talked to my parents," Emma began, settling into a chair at the table where Killian kept all of his maps and constellation charts. "They have a little experience with one person in a rel--um, with one person having memory loss and the other not. And they think we've been going about this all wrong, putting too much pressure on ourselves--on _you_ \--to remember. So they suggested that we should just spend some time together and have fun, without the pressure."

He leaned back in his chair, considering her words carefully. "Are you proposing that we court each other?" he asked after a moment.

"Well, it's calling 'dating' these days," she babbled nervously, "but yeah, that's what I'm saying. I mean, we've been dancing around it for week, but it's obvious that there's something between us. Maybe dating for a while will help us figure out what it is." She smiled, a hopeful expression in her green eyes.

Killian wasn't certain how he knew, but he sensed that Emma wasn't telling him the entire truth. She wasn't lying, exactly, but there was a feeling of dishonesty that radiated from her nonetheless. "Emma," he said carefully, "if we are going to do this, then we need to be honest with each other. You already know how you feel about me, don't you?"

 Her hopeful expression fell. "Yeah," she admitted. "I do."

"So this is your attempt to woo me?" he smiled.

She groaned. "'Court, woo,' ...I feel like I'm in some nineteenth century romance novel." She sighed. "Look, I didn't...I haven't made my feelings clear because I didn't want you to feel pressured by them. I just want to see where things go, see if you feel the same, deep down, without my feelings influencing or confusing you. Is dating something you would feel comfortable with, knowing all of that?"

He scratched behind one ear with his index finger, a grin spreading across his face. He chuckled.

"What?" Emma said, almost defensively, shifting in her chair. "Did I ask wrong? Look, I'm sorry, but this old-fashioned language all of you people use isn't my thing--"

"Easy, love," he said, smiling as he laid his hand on top of hers. "It isn't that. I've simply never been invited to court a lass before. It's quite flattering; forgive me if I take a moment to savor the idea. It's not something pirates are known for, courting. Our methods of, ah, romancing a woman tend to be quite a bit different. Substantially more direct."

"Hmm," she mused, the corners of her mouth turning upward in the hint of a smile. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. "Dating--or 'courting' as you call it--is quite a bit different in this realm. You might find that your methods of romance fit in better with the modern world than you think."

"Indeed?" he inquired with interest, his voice becoming low and husky. "That's very good to know, Swan," he said, with a swipe of his tongue over his lower lip, "but if you're trying to entice me into saying yes, there's no need. I would be honored to court you, regardless of social conventions." He leaned forward, capturing her gaze with his own, "And despite the piracy, love, I am very much a gentleman."

"I know," she said with a sad smile. "You insisted as much shortly after we met."

"I take it we met under rather interesting circumstances?"

"That's putting it mildly," she snorted. "Let's just say that you've more than proved your point since then." She bit her lip, shifting her gaze away. "So, you like seafood, right? Storybrooke is having a clambake next Saturday, and I thought that maybe we could go together. As our first official date. If you want." Emma peered up at him, her eyes reflecting a hesitance that surprised him, given his earlier encouragement.

"I would be delighted to attend as your escort, Swan," he assured her, "but there is likely to be quite a gathering there, yes?"

"Uh, yeah. Is that a problem? We could do something more private, if you're not ready for that yet."

"I don't know," he said honestly. "But, as you say, I'd like to see how things go."

"Great," she said with a relieved smile. "Henry will be there, of course. And my parents. They'll be glad to say hello again."

Killian was uncertain how to respond to that. Although he remembered them, and some of his interactions with them in Neverland, there were still many holes in his memory. It galled him to think that Emma's son and parents might have more knowledge of certain parts of his past than he did. "What does that Whale think about all of this?" he finally asked.

" _Doctor_ Whale," she corrected with an exasperated smile and a roll of her eyes. "And about that...I think we should talk to him again. Together. Mary-Margaret--my mom--thinks I may have  misunderstood his advice on how to handle your memory loss."

"All right," he agreed after mulling it over for a few moments. "Perhaps in the morning?"

"Can't," she shook her head. "I work the morning shift. What about during my lunch hour? I can come by, and we'll go to the hospital together."

"Tomorrow afternoon, then."

"Tomorrow afternoon," she agreed with a small smile.

Killian returned her smile, studying her for a moment. This courtship would enable both of them to start fresh, in a way. It might be just the thing they both needed after the stress and frustration of the past several weeks. Perhaps it could even be the beginning of the new foundation he needed, to start a real life in Storybrooke, rather than remaining in this limbo he had been punishing himself with.

"Well, I should probably go," Emma said after a short silence. "I promised Dav--my dad--that I would bring the coffee tomorrow morning, which means getting up a little earlier to stop by Granny's on my way to the station." She stood up, and Killian rose as well, following her to the door of his cabin.

"Swan?" he said as she reached for the door knob.

Emma turned toward him, a questioning look on her face, and Killian pulled her in for a kiss, his hand resting on the curve of her waist. She squeaked softly in surprised as their lips met, but responded with a gentle eagerness that Killian found oddly arousing. He pressed her against the door with his body, nibbling her lower lip, then took the kiss deeper, his hand caressing her rib cage. Emma moaned softly, and Killian pulled away with no small amount of regret.

"So much for being gentleman," she teased, when their breathing steadied again.

"Emma," he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, "you're alone in the Captain's quarters, at night, with a _pirate_. That I haven't tried to entice you into my bed and ravish you until dawn is me being a gentleman, I can assure you."

"So noted," she said breathlessly. "Goodnight, Killian," she murmured with a smile, slipping out the door.

"Goodnight, Swan," he called after her softly. _Until tomorrow_ , he thought.

 


	20. Chapter 20

When Emma stopped by the Jolly Roger during her lunch hour the next day, she was surprised, upon approaching, to see Killian walking down the gangplank to meet her. Her heart skipped a beat, and Emma froze in her tracks, remembering the last time that she had seen Killian descend from the Jolly Roger in just such a way, prior to their Neverland adventure. His boots thumped against the dock as he walked over to her, and Emma wondered what he was thinking and feeling about this first trip into Storybrooke since he had been released from the hospital many weeks ago.

Killian offered his arm to her in silence, and she smiled. Always a gentleman indeed, she thought, slipping her arm through his. "I told David, my dad," she explained, "that I was taking a longer lunch break than usual today. I thought maybe after we talked with Dr. Whale over at the hospital, we could go do something fun. Sort of a pre-date to our first date." Emma figured that anything that took a little of the pressure off of Saturday might be helpful to both her and Killian. There had been enough pressure and expectations fouling up their interactions of late as it was.

"Aye," he said, looking over at her. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know. I bet you've never had ice cream, have you? Or we could take a walk through the new community garden that opened up a few weeks ago. I've only been once, but it's nice." And it would be nicer with someone to share it with, Emma thought. Much better than sitting alone on a bench, brooding about all of the changes in her life, or what might happen if the townspeople ever figured out that both she and Regina no longer had magic, thus leaving Storybrooke and its residents vulnerable to hostile takeover. Emma didn't like to think of the possible revolt they might have on their hands, if that information came to light, or the unpleasant elements both in Storybrooke and out that might try to take advantage of such a situation.

"Something is bothering you. You are distracted."

Emma glanced up at Killian, who was gazing at her with concern. "It's not--" she started to say, out of sheer habit, until she remembered to whom she was speaking. "It _is_ something," she corrected herself. "And it is important. But we can't talk about it here." He frowned, but didn't push her for further information. "And anyway," she tried to smile, hoping to lighten the mood, "we have an appointment to keep right now, don't we?"

The wait to see Dr. Whale was longer than Emma expected. She appreciated that he had been accommodating enough  to squeeze them in between his other appointments, but the wait was tedious just the same. Thank goodness she'd had the sense to take a longer lunch break than usual. She and Killian might not be able to sit down for a leisurely meal afterward, but at least they wouldn't be rushing through one, either. She meant what she had said to Killian about having a little pre-date to their real first date, in order to take some of the pressure off of the event. Their first date was going to be in a public venue with no real privacy. If something triggered Killian during his first trip into Storybrooke since the memory loss, Emma didn't want an audience looking on and patronizing them with encouragement, even as they gossiped behind her and behind Killian's and her backs. Storybrooke might be filled with magic and fairy tale characters, but it had as active a gossip mill as any other small town, and the last thing Emma wanted for Killian was for him to become victim to it in the midst of everything else he was already dealing with.

"Miss Swan? Mr., ah, Jones?" the nurse said glancing at her clipboard, "Dr. Whale will see you now."

Emma shuffled into the room where Dr. Whale stood, leaning against an exam table. "Please have a seat," he said with a nod toward two sickly orange chairs. "Now," he said when they had settled (as much as one could settle on such cold, uncomfortable excuses for chairs), "you mentioned having some questions when we spoke over the phone?" He fixed his gaze on Emma and tucked his clipboard under one arm. "What seems to be the problem?"

She glanced at Killian, who nodded in return. "I, that is, we have been concerned because Killian still hasn't recovered very many of his memories. My parents thought that I should talk to you again and see if maybe there was something else we could do."

"Considering how long Mr. Jones's brain was deprived of oxygen after his...injuries...it's not surprising that there is extensive memory loss. If you'll recall, during his stay here in the hospital, I warned both of you that his memories may never return."

"But he remembered Henry," she said quietly, "and other things from Neverland."

"And that's a reason for hope," he acknowledged, "but realistically speaking, he may never recover everything."

 _Realistically speaking, he shouldn't even be alive_ , Emma almost snapped at him. She swallowed the retort with only a great deal of self-control. She didn't want to scare Killian and send him into shock. "Okay," she said with carefully gathered patience, "setting aside the likelihood of returning all of his memories, what can we do to increase the chance that he might get back more of them?"

"That depends on the type and extent of the amnesia. The mind is a complex system and there's really no one foolproof way to guarantee the recovery of lost memories. However, some people have found that a good licensed psychotherapist can aide in the recovery process, particularly in cases involving trauma."

"So...you want him to see a shrink?"

"That would be my recommendation," Dr. Whale agreed. "Tell me, Mr. Jones--"

"Killian," he corrected, speaking at last.

"Killian, then. Where were you when you recovered your memories of Henry? What were you doing?"

"On the deck of my ship, arguing with Lagerkron about his bloody _dog_." He said the last word with such contempt  that Emma snorted with amusement despite herself, thinking of the big bad pirate who preferred kitty cats. Killian eyed her sidelong, his mouth twitching in the beginnings of a smirk, as if he knew precisely what she was thinking.

"I see. And what triggered it, do you think?" Dr. Whale went on, oblivious to this little interplay.

"Henry," Emma said hoarsely. "My son, Henry. He came to the ship. We weren't expecting him. Killian hadn't seen him since Neverland..."

"Bae," Killian interrupted suddenly. "Baelfire."

"You mean Neal?" Emma said, turning to peer at him in surprise. "What about him?"

"I heard Henry's voice, and for a minute, when I looked over at him, I was reminded of Baelfire."

"And what's your connection to this Baelfire?" Dr. Whale wanted to know.

"I have...an extensive history with him from Neverland."

"And you traveled _back_ to Neverland to rescue Henry," Dr. Whale mused. "Interesting."

"Wait," Emma interrupted, feeling a little lost, "what are you getting at?"

"Well, if I had to guess, I would say that the reason Henry triggered that particular set of memories is because Killian's mind associates him with Neverland, just like this Baelfire."

"And Lagerkron," Killian affirmed softly. "I remembered him too."

"Also with strong associations from Neverland, as I understand it from what he's told me," Dr. Whale nodded.

"But...what about my dad?" Emma said plaintively. "You remembered him too, you said."

"Aye," he said with a mournful expression. "He remind me of my brother, Liam. He was with me the first time I set foot in Neverland."

Emma sensed that there was more to the story than he was saying, but now was neither the time nor the place to bring this revelation of his brother up. "So...also connected to Neverland," she concluded with a sigh. "Looks like you're right," she told the doctor. "But what about...the others?" _Me_ , she wanted to say. _Why doesn't he remember anything about me?_ "They were in Neverland too."

"He may have different mental associations," the doctor guessed with a shrug, "something that's a stronger connection in his mind than Neverland. It's hard to say."

She processed that for a moment before she asked, "So, uh, if he goes to Dr. Hopper, he has to leave the Jolly Roger--"

"Unless Dr. Hopper makes house-boat calls now," Whale quipped with his irritating smirk.

"Ship," Killian corrected without humor. "It's a ship," he huffed. "Not a bloody boat."

"Nobody appreciates my bedside manner," Whale muttered.

"As I was saying," Emma went on with some annoyance, "in order to see Dr. Hopper, he has to walk into town. How do we keep people from overwhelming him?"

"I'm not sure I follow," the doctor said with a slight frown.

"Right before Killian was released from the hospital, your instructions regarding his memory loss specifically said that you didn't want anyone giving him his memories back. You said he needed to remember for himself. On his own. So what's to stop the people in town from referencing things he has no memory of and filling in the gaps?" _Or worse, confusing him?_ she thought.

"I'm still a bit lost, I'm afraid."

Emma clenched her fists together as her frustration with the doctor built. She glanced over at Killian, who looked as distressed as she felt. She reached over to him, their fingers fumbling together awkwardly at first. The contact calmed her a fraction. "Dr. Whale, he's been living in almost total isolation on his ship these past several weeks at _your_ order--"

"I never gave that order," he protested.

She gaped at him. "Of course you did." She remembered the words distinctly. His instructions had been her lifeline in the aftermath of Killian's memory loss. She'd absorbed his words like a thirsty sponge, replaying them to herself as she lay in bed those first few nights, trying to convince herself that a future with Killian was still possible. "You stood _right there_ , by his bed and said--"

"Miss Swan," Dr. Whale interrupted angrily, "I may have a lot of patients come in and out of this hospital, but I think I know damn well what I would and wouldn't proscribe for a patient with amnesia! And isolation is not one of them!"

"But then...who?" Her heart stopped cold as a terrible notion occurred to her. Gold. That miserable son of a bitch!

Sparks exploded from the medical monitors and the fluorescent lights above. Dr. Whale jumped back quickly, avoiding the worst of it, but the left sleeve of his white coat ended up singed just the same.

"Miss Swan," the doctor sighed, "if you could refrain from damaging the medical equipment during these visits, I would appreciate it. We can't afford to keep replacing it every time you or your family deigns to visit."

"I didn't do it!"

"Then who did?" he asked sarcastically. "The pirate?"

"But it's impossible! I lost my magic when--" _When I brought Killian back from the dead_ , she finished to herself, managing to bite back the words just in time. Sending Killian into shock by blurting out the story was not how she wanted him to find out. Truth be told, of all the memories Emma was eager for him to recover, his death was not one of them. She worried that he would resent her for bringing him back. Or worse, that he'd feel obligated to her as a result. She wanted him to want her the way he had in Neverland--for herself, not for anything she had done for him. She needed to be sure that what they had was real and not just some effect of hormones and an overheated jungle.

"--when we were in Neverland," she finished lamely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a glowering Killian press his lips together slightly, a look of skepticism skittering across his features. Well, fine. Both of them weren't giving out the entire truth today. She could live with that. For now.

"Well, it appears to be coming back," Dr. Whale said, jerking his head toward the damaged lights and medical equipment. You might want to get a handle on that."

 _How?_ Emma thought. Regina's magic was gone. The only one left to teach her was Gold. Dirty, deceitful Gold.

"Killian?" she murmured. "Can you go ask one of the nurses to bring me a cup of coffee?" The pirate tossed her a knowing look, but shuffled out of the room with a sigh of acquiescence. Emma felt bad about that, but she needed to have a very frank discussion with Storybrooke's doctor. 

"Dr. Whale," she began slowly when she was certain Killian was out of earshot, "never mind about the equipment. I know someone who owes us _both_ a few favors..."

 

 

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

On the day of the clambake, Killian Jones ventured into town again. Although Emma thought that she should one to pick him up for their date since she had proposed the whole notion of courting to begin with, she hadn’t entirely counted on Killian’s more old-fashioned ideas with regard to courtship. Truth be told, Killian had never formally courted a woman in his life. That wasn’t to say that he had never followed any courtship rituals to woo the women he’d been involved with, but there had never been any formal structure or rules to follow, pirates by nature tending to flout the rules and law anyway. Formal courtship simply hadn’t been a part of his life or his world as a pirate captain. Even Milah, the one serious relationship he remembered having, hadn’t been courted properly. It had been too whirlwind, too illicit for such a thing anyway, and in the end they had simply run away together when it became more than a shore leave fling.

But Emma was different, and the life he seemed to have here in Storybrooke was different. It therefore seemed appropriate that a different approach should be taken in regard to this relationship he was trying to sort out with Emma. And as she had proposed a formal courtship of sorts to see what their true feelings were from each other, Killian was determined to do things _right_. The way Liam would have encouraged him.

And that meant that he, Killian Jones, who was always a gentleman in any situation, whether naval lieutenant or pirate captain, was going to pick her up for their first formal event in public. With a painstakingly selected floral arrangement: lilacs for early love, bluebells for constancy, fern leaves for sincerity. It seemed an appropriate arrangement for their blossoming relationship.

“Well, this is it,” Eric said as they neared the apartment complex.

“You’re certain?” He squinted at the brick building with its tidily trimmed shrubs and beds of flowers, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I went to talk with Snow the other day. I’m certain.”

“Ah,” Killian said, “about Ariel?” Eric bobbed his head once.  “I’m sorry, mate. Hope it works out for you.”

“What was that?” Eric perked up. His smile was positively beatific. “I knew one day I’d get you to say it!” he exclaimed with a smug expression. “Mate,” he echoed with relish. “And it only took almost thirty years to get you to say it.”

“As in _First_ Mate,” Killian growled, shifting again. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lady I’d rather not keep waiting.”

“All right,” Eric grinned, watching him retreat up the walkway toward the building, “If you say so. See you at the clambake.”

Muttering to himself, Killian yanked the door open with his hook and stomped up the stairs. Turning left at the landing, he knocked on the door of the apartment that Emma shared with her parents and son. The door opened a few moments later, and a man with blonde hair and smiling blue eyes peered at him.

“David,” Killian greeted him awkwardly.

“Hook,” he said, his eyes alight with approval as he noticed the flowers, “good to see you again. Come on in, Emma’s just about ready.”

Stepping into the little suite of rooms, Killian peered around curiously. The room he entered was large and open, with furniture arranged into clusters that designated different areas of the living space. It reminded Killian a little bit of his quarters on the Jolly Roger, only much larger and lacking any designated area for slumber. At David’s urging, he settled onto a stool at a small counter in what Killian presumed to be the galley.

“Hook,” Emma’s mother greeted him with a smile, pouring steaming water into two mugs. “Would you like some tea?”

Killian opened his mouth to politely refuse when Emma walked into the room, rendering him speechless. He stood up, eyes roving over her in awe. Golden curls cascaded down her shoulders, making Killian’s fingers twitch with the need to sink his hand into them.  Her shoulders glowed against the whiteness of the shirt she wore, sleeveless and form-fitting, with a neckline that dipped just low enough to fuel his imagination. Cropped brown trousers fell to her thighs, exposing a lovely length of legs that Killian was all too happy to admire until he noticed David glaring at him disapprovingly.

“Hi,” Emma said with an uncertain smile.

“Hello,” he replied softly, unable to take his eyes off of her smile. There was something about it, he realized. It was more than the smile of a beautiful woman. In his long life, Killian had seen dozens of those. And while some of those smiles had been alluring and lovely and nearly irresistible in the moment, they hadn’t been anything special; they weren’t something he couldn’t leave behind with the dawn. Not until Milah. But even with her, he’d never felt anything quite like the sense of homecoming and familiarity when she smiled. Emma’s smile was different than anyone else he could remember being with. And suddenly Killian knew with an underlying, nagging surety that he’d seen such a smile from Emma before. And that it had signified something momentous for both of them.

 Warmth and affection spread through him, and he held the flowers out to her with a smile that could have split his face. “For you,” he told her, catching a whiff of the fragrant blooms.

"Thank you,” she accepted the flowers. She sniffed them. “They’re beautiful. And they smell wonderful.”

“Let me just put those in some water for you,” Snow offered. She took the flowers from her daughter and her eyes widened. “Oh my, these do smell amazing!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know if I’ve ever smelled flowers so fragrant!” She bustled off to snip the stems and settle them into a vase of water.

Killian eyed Emma questioningly. “Shall we proceed?”

“If you’re asking whether I’m ready to go,” she chuckled, “the answer is yes.”

Taking that as his cue, Killian drew near to her, gently folding her hand in the crook of his arm. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in close.

“So do you,” she returned as they walked together toward the door. “Where did you get the new leather jacket and jeans?”

“I might have called in a favor with Lagerkron,” he admitted, “who called in a favor of his own.”

 “Have fun,” Snow called after them cheerily. “We’ll see you later.”

 _Not too much fun_ , David’s eyes threatened as Killian walked his daughter to the door. Acknowledging the other man with a saucy wink, Killian opened the door and followed Emma out of the apartment. He might not remember some of the finer details about his interactions with Emma’s father in Neverland, but he did remember that as genuine as David’s threats to anyone who had the potential to hurt his daughter might be, the man trusted him (however grudgingly). And Killian was not about to abuse that trust. He would rather lose his other hand than ever hurt Emma.

David’s angry face flashed in Killian’s mind. _You want to lose the other hand?_

“What’s wrong?”

Killian looked over at Emma, feeling guilty. For a moment, he’d forgotten that she was even there. It wasn’t an auspicious start to their first event out in Storybrooke together.

Or was it?

He’d recovered another memory, albeit a minor one, only minutes into their first…what was it Emma had called it? A date? Perhaps there was something to the idea of spending more time off of his ship in order to help trigger his memories, as the doctor had originally prescribed. Of course, that made Killian wonder, once again, just who had impersonated Dr. Whale and twisted his orders to begin with. Emma suspected someone--that much was clear from the way she had shuffled him off on an errand during their meeting with the doctor. And although she had admitted as much when he’d confronted her about it during their meal afterwards, she had refused to give him a name, insisting that she needed proof first, before they went off half-cocked. Killian could understand that, even if it only fueled his frustration and anger. Whomever it was that had interfered with the recovery of his memories had a lot to answer for.

Particularly, he thought, since his inability to regain many of his memories hurt Emma Swan.

“You remembered something, didn’t you?” She watched him with a knowing expression, her eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and resignation.

Killian slowed to a stop, reaching for her hand. He drew it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. “Aye,” he said gently. “It seems your father is no stranger to threats regarding my person.”

She huffed in amusement. “You could say that.”

He smiled, brushing the back of her hand with his thumb. “Listen, Swan, I want to remember whatever it is that’s happened between us more than anyone. And the fact that someone is deliberately interfering with my ability to do so makes me angry beyond reason. But right now, the only thing that matters to me is making new memories with you. Ones that we can both remember, no matter what.”

She gazed at him searchingly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You mean that?”

“I do,” he said simply, wondering why his words had made her so sad. “Who has hurt you, Swan, to make you doubt my sincerity?”

“It’s a long story,” she said, tightening her grip on Killian’s hand as they resumed walking, “involving a lot of people. But…” She hesitated, flicking a glance toward him, “There was someone in particular. A man named Neal.”

“Henry’s dad,” he remembered.

“Yeah.”

“Well whatever he did to hurt you, I can promise you, Emma, I am not Neal.”

“I know.” She smiled crookedly. “I’m counting on it.”

* * *

The citrus and savory smells of baking shellfish greeted them when they arrived at the little seashore party, wafting toward them with the breezy rhythm of several percussion instruments. A familiar redheaded figure sat in her wheeled chair among the other musicians, singing without the shackle of words, a bright expression on her face. Eric loitered at a table nearby, cleaning fish while he listened, his expression hovering between pained longing and utter enthrallment as he stole frequent glances at her.

“That  idiot’s going to cut his hand off,” Killian growled in exasperation.

Emma tugged on his hook playfully. “What’s the matter? Afraid he’ll steal your thunder?” she teased with a saucy grin. “Storybrooke’s not big enough for two handsome one-handed seamen?”

“You wound me, Swan,” he protested lightly. “Lagerkron couldn’t possibly compete with my dashing good looks.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, “or your ego.”

Killian Jones was no stranger to seafood, nor its many methods of preparation. And while he was certainly familiar with the method of baking seafood in a sand pit lined with seaweed and heated stones, he had never yet experienced it for himself. He and Liam had always been too poor or too busy overseeing a crew to host many social gatherings. And that had never really bothered Killian; it had always been more than enough just to get by and survive. They’d had each other and never really needed anything else. Until, of course, they didn’t. And after that, Killian had been too consumed by grief and revenge to give much thought to friendship or simple pleasures.

Looking around at the small crowd of friends and family gathered in chatting, laughing groups on the shore, Killian realized for the first time all that he (and by extension Liam) had missed during their years of endless struggle and toil. He might’ve had a home and family. Lived a good, quiet life. Made his brother proud, instead of wasting so many of his years shaming Liam’s memory.

“Come on,” Emma said, worming her way underneath his arm so that the hook slung around her lower shoulder, “you look like you could use a beer.”

They walked across the sand to a large metal washtub filled with small shards of ice. Bottles of water, beer, and some beverage that Killian presumed was juice were buried within it, cooling off. Fishing two bottles out of the mound of ice, Emma led him to a nearby table and plunked the bottles down before sitting on a wooden bench. “So what’s on your mind? You looked a little down for a minute, there.”

“Thinking about my brother,” he admitted, settling down next to her. “We never seemed to find the time to do things like this,” he said, gesturing toward the party taking place around them. “To simply enjoy ourselves.”

“Why not?” she asked curiously.

 “The focus was always on providing for our next meal and keeping a roof of some kind over our heads.” He shrugged, opening his bottle of beer with the tip of his hook. “I don’t condemn my brother for it. I’d never have survived without his sacrifices and guidance. He did what was necessary for both of us. That’s just how Liam was. How he _had_ to be, after mother died and father left. But it’s hard to see all of this and not wish that it might have been different—that maybe Liam could have had a break from his burdens.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” she said softly, covering his hand with her own. Her eyes brimmed with sincerity and understanding. “But I’m sure he didn’t see _you_ as a burden.”

“Perhaps not,” Killian allowed, reaching for Emma’s bottle. He pried the top off of it and handed it to her with a smile that was only partly forced. “I suppose I’ll never really know.”

“He could have abandoned you,” she pointed out, “like your dad. But he didn’t. He thought your best chance was with him, and he worked hard to give it to you.”

“Thank you, Swan.”

She nodded. “It took me a long time to understand some of my parents’ decisions about the way I was forced to grow up. I don’t think there will ever be a time where I don’t wish we had all stayed together, instead of them sending me over here by myself as a helpless baby to escape a curse--” Killian frowned, studying the crinkle of her forehead and the sadness in her eyes as she spoke. There was something, tickling at the back of his mind, something familiar about the lost look in her eyes that nagged at him, “—but I understand now why they did it, and I see the guilt they will always carry with them because they thought they were giving me _my_ best chance.”

She took a sip of her beer and then swallowed. “By the way, these bottle caps are twist-off,” she smirked with a wink, dispelling the memory that flickered in the back of his mind, just out of reach.

Smiling at her attempt to inject levity back into the conversation, Killian leaned closer to her. “Ah,” he breathed, “but the hook’s more impressive, don’t you think? And quite versatile.”

Her eyes lit with heat. A mischievous smile curled across her face. “Is that so?” She ran a finger tip down the curve of his hook. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied with a wicked smile.

* * *

It was just past sunset before Killian walked Emma home from their date, their fingers intertwined as if neither of them ever wanted to let go. He was exhausted, but pleased. While the small parade of people that had greeted him and re-introduced themselves throughout the clambake left him feeling tired and a little overwhelmed, Emma had been at his side through it all, squeezing his hand in silent declarations of support and encouragement—some of it so well timed that Killian almost suspected that she could read his mind. But it had all been worth it to spend so much time with Emma, and even Henry when he arrived later in the day. Rather than feeling lost, alone, and resentful, Killian felt as if he were a part of something. Something that he sensed he hadn’t been a part of for a very long time.

“You didn’t have to offer to teach Henry astronomy and navigation, you know,” Emma spoke up, breaking the spell of relaxed silence as they meandered through town, neither of them in any big hurry to end their date quite yet.

“I know.”

“So—why did you, then?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Don’t let the pirate persona fool you, love. I don’t know what sort of tales you’ve heard, but I happen to like children.”

“Oh.”

Killian stopped in his tracks, studying her for a few silent moments before he spoke. “What’s this about, Swan? Are you worried I’ll try to curry your favor through your son? Because I can assure you, my charms are more than sufficient to win you without your lad’s help.”

Rather than tease him about his ego yet again, Emma nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Emma, I can see quite plainly that this concern isn’t coming out of nowhere. Who has put it into your head that I would use your son to get to you? Neal?”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. “He seemed to think, for a while, that we should be together just because we had a child together. Like he owned me, and Henry was his means of—of establishing that ownership.”

“Well, you’ve nothing to worry about in that regard. I do wish, however, to gain your son’s favor because I’d like to be on cordial terms with the son of the woman I care for, which is why I made the offer.”

She blushed, a rosy pink color that Killian found very becoming, the contrasting hues not unlike the rose and gold tones of the sunset tonight. “I don’t think you have to work too hard to do that,” she murmured. “He already likes you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he admitted, drawing her close with one arm as they resumed walking. And he truly was. That Henry had triggered the return of some of his memories and seemed closely associated to events and people in Neverland was not insignificant. Killian wanted to discover why. More importantly, why had Killian thought that Henry might have been his son? Was it simply confusion and wishful thinking, or was there a deeper relationship between them apart from Emma that he had yet to rediscover?

A strange prickle at the back of Killian’s neck pulled him out of his thoughts. Pausing in mid-step, he scanned the area carefully for the source of his uneasiness. His gaze settled on a shop window filled with an odd assortment of items that under normal circumstances wouldn’t be sold together. The store was dark, clearly closed for the evening, and yet, Killian couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being observed. The knowledge of it was pervasive, almost overwhelming, and it left Killian feeling surly. He glared at the shop with intense dislike.

“What’s wrong?” Emma wanted to know. She glanced from Killian to the shop with a worried look on her face.

“I don’t know,” he admitted sullenly. “There’s something about that place that unsettles me.”

She snorted. “That’s no surprise. That’s Gold’s shop. He’s the town pawnbroker. You and he don’t exactly get along.”

“And this Gold has magic?” he guessed, certain he already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” she said cautiously, “how did you know? Did you remember something again?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Just a feeling.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her away, intent on removing her from the scope pawnbroker’s invisible watchfulness. They made small talk on the walk back to her apartment building, avoiding the subject of the pawnbroker. Killian was grateful for that. He had no rational basis for his suspicion that this Gold had been watching them, and he didn’t care to worry Emma and ruin their first date together.

“So,” she said with a nervous smile as they stood outside the door to the apartment she shared with her parents, “I guess this is where we say goodnight.”

“Aye,” he agreed, returning her smile. “I enjoyed your company very much, Emma, and I would like to do this again.”

Her eyes shone with happiness. “Me too.”

Gathering her close to him, Killian gazed down into her eyes. Perhaps he didn’t remember what it was they had shared in the past, but what they had in the present was very promising. It filled him with hope that one day he might still have a family to call his own. Brushing her lips against his, Killian kissed her, soft and gentle; it was a kiss filled with hope and dreams--chaste but with a lingering intimacy that warmed his spirit. “Goodnight, Emma,” he breathed, breaking the kiss.

Her answering smile was shy; Killian found it positively alluring. “Goodnight.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Many thanks go out to my lovely new beta reader, Raams, for her help with this chapter! She caught some plot points that needed to be clarified, and I’m very grateful for it, as this is a rather important chapter in the fic. Happy reading!

Though it felt strange at first, taking dating advice from her parents, for once it was the good, non-crazy kind of strange, so far as Emma Swan was concerned. She’d always cherished the secret hope, as she spent her youth being shuffled in and out of foster homes and orphanages, to have parents who cared enough to be involved in her life and give her guidance. That no such parents had ever appeared to adopt her had only left Emma more hardened with every year that went by, squelching the instinct a child had to seek shelter and advice from her parents. As such, it simply hadn’t _occurred_ to Emma to open up about her problems now that she finally had parents to fill that need. She’d gone too long without, spent too much time looking out for herself and solving problems on her own, to even think of it until she had been prodded.

Alternately wishing that she had opened up to them sooner, and cursing Gold and his deceptions, Emma tried her best to focus on simply developing her relationship with Killian as it stood now, without expectations or assumptions based on their interactions prior to his memory loss. It wasn’t easy, as it only took something as simple as a familiar scent or expression on Killian’s face to remind Emma of all that had been lost between them with his inability to recover his memories of her, and as the days went on, she found herself growing more and more resentful of the town pawn broker. She wanted to wreck his life and rip away his most cherished and important memories the way he’d done to Killian. The deceitful bastard deserved no less, and yet Emma found herself in a pickle because the pawn broker was the only person left in Storybrooke to teach her magic.

And so, after consulting with Dr. Whale and working around his busy schedule, she’d decided to make a deal of sorts with the devil of Storybrooke.

Emma jerked the door to the pawn shop open. The bells jangled with force as she stepped inside, flanked by Dr. Whale. The pawn broker himself peered up from his account book with a mild expression. “Miss Swan, Dr. Whale. I take it there’s something I can help you with?” he inquired blandly.

 _I’d like to help you right along to hell where you belong_ , Emma thought darkly, but she restrained herself from giving voice to the notion. Whale had insisted on accompanying her to confront Gold, once she’d uncovered the pawn broker’s deception. Emma put up little protest, supposing he had the right, since Gold had impersonated him and dispensed false medical advice to a patient. She hoped the scientist-turned-doctor managed to keep his own anger at bay. They would both need to keep their wits sharp in order to negotiate with Gold. The pawn broker had a way of withholding information to turn things to his own advantage.

Emma sauntered up to the counter. She leaned against it with one hip, affecting a casual demeanor. “As it happens, there is,” she affirmed, shooting a poisonous smile at the pawn broker. Dr. Whale hovered behind her, his expression stormy. “It seems,” she went on, “that someone in this town has been impersonating Dr. Whale, here.”

“What a shame,” Gold said. His eyes glittered, and his face smoothly assumed a façade of sympathy.

“And not only has this person been pretending to be him, but he’s been giving out false medical advice as well.”

“Ah,” Gold said, “now that is a problem.”

“It’s also a felony,” Dr. Whale added with a withering look at Gold. “Tell me, what do you think the prisons are like outside of Storybrooke for a little coward without magic to defend himself?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Gold said with a serene, smug smile that made Emma want to slap him. “Considering all of your so-called medical knowledge is the result of a spoiled queen’s curse, you’ll have to write and tell me when you find out. You’re hardly in a position to complain about anyone practicing medicine without a license.”

Victor’s eyes bulged, and Emma stepped between the two men before the doctor could dismember Gold and use him for his science experiments. “Whoa, whoa! Separate corners, boys. At least until business is concluded.”

“And what business would that be?” Gold said, emphasizing the word “business” with a subtle sarcasm while he dismissed Victor with a sneer. He turned his attention to Emma, his expression disdainful and wary.

 _Good_ , Emma thought. Victor hit a nerve. Maybe she could use it to her advantage. “I’m still Sheriff of Storybrooke,” she pointed out. “A position you helped me get, despite your unethical tactics,” she reminded him. “It’s part of my job to investigate crimes. You wouldn’t want me to be derelict in my duty, would you?”

“Of course not, dearie,” he was compelled to say, with a distasteful expression on his face. “Perhaps you’d care to start this, ah, investigation by explaining what it is you’re doing in my shop. Seeking an artifact to aid you in your search, perhaps?”

“Oh, come off it, Gold!” Emma snapped at last. “We know it was you. No one else in Storybrooke has both the means and the motive to assume Dr. Whale’s identity! You’ve always hated Killian for loving Milah in the way you couldn’t, so when the opportunity arose, you took advantage of your enemy while he has amnesia and told him to isolate himself so he can’t recover his memories. You’re trying to ruin his life the way you believe he ruined yours.”

Gold gripped his cane in both hands and straightened, squaring his shoulders. The look on his face was cunning and combative. “Well, as to the accusations, I’ll plead no contest. As for the projected motives, they are utterly false.”

Dr. Whale made an indelicate sound. “Excuse me?” he protested, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So what were your so-called motives, then?” he demanded. He flicked a glance toward Emma. “This ought to be good,” he muttered under his breath.

“Had it occurred to you, Miss Swan,” Mr. Gold emphasized, pointedly ignoring the doctor, “that there might be serious effects of what you did back in Neverland?”

“What do you mean?” she frowned. “I already lost my magic, and Killian lost his memories. Isn’t that “price” enough, as you call it?”

“Hmph,” the weasel-like man smirked condescendingly, “the laws of magic don’t work in predictable ways, I’m afraid. You—or should I say Hook?—are proof of that.”

Emma flicked a glance at Victor. His expression was grim, but he nodded. “I know,” she acknowledged, facing Gold again, “it’s coming back, and I need you to teach me control over it.”

Gold inhaled, as if he could smell the promise of a deal in the air. Emma wouldn’t have been surprised if that were actually the case. “And you would like this training in exchange for…what? Me not going to jail?” He shook his head. “If you want my help to learn magic, Miss Swan, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“But—”

“Make no mistake, Miss  Swan, I shall teach you magic if you desire, but I strongly suspect you are not the one in real need of training.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Tell me,” he pressed, “these instances of your magic returning… How many have happened outside of the pirate’s company?”

All of her post-Neverland interactions with Killian flashed through her head. Violent winds that blew up out of nowhere, nearly ripping his cabin door off its hinges. A cool breeze that swirled through his cabin while they talked and sipped tea, though the door was shut. Medical equipment that blew up and went haywire. At the time, Emma had thought that she’d done it, given Dr. Whale’s own assumptions. She’d certainly been upset enough when she realized Gold had manipulated them. But now that she thought about it, Killian had been tense during the entire appointment, and certainly he’d understood the implications when Dr. Whale had insisted he had never given orders to isolate Killian…

“None,” she replied hoarsely as the implications of what Gold was getting at dawned on her. “My magic isn’t coming back at all, is it?” she whispered.

“I’m afraid not, dearie.”

“Does someone want to clue me in?” Whale interrupted with annoyance. “I feel like you’re talking in code.”

Emma started; she’d forgotten he was even there.

“Killian has my magic,” she said softly—more to process it than actually answer Whale’s question.

“Not yours anymore, I’m afraid,” Gold said with a grim expression. “If I had to wager, I’d say it’s what’s keeping him alive.”

“It’s possible,” Dr. Whale said thoughtfully.

Emma stared at him in mild surprise. “You’ve heard of this happening before?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted. “I’m speaking on a purely theoretical level. I’m a man of science, not magic. Still, based on Mr. Gold’s hypothesis, it’s possible that your grief and your feelings for Mr. Jones, ah, overwhelmed the normal capabilities of your magic such that it was only able to comply with your desires by forming a symbiotic relationship with him.”

“Then you have to help him,” she ordered the pawn broker after all of it sank in, “you have to—”

“No, Miss Swan, I don’t. As I’ve said before, I’m willing to teach you magic. But Hook? That surpasses even the limitations of patience that I employed in training Regina.”

“But someone needs to,” she pointed out.

“Perhaps, but it’s not going to be me. I agreed to train you, Miss Swan, and train you I will. Although you now lack innate magic, an aptitude for it may yet exist. In exchange, I ask that you keep the pirate away from me and my family, and also refrain from filling in his memory gaps regarding our long enmity with each other.”

“So that’s why you pretended to be me,” Whale realized.  “You didn’t want him to remember because it might put your own precious hide in danger?”  


“Please,” Gold smirked, “I can handle the pirate, with or without his newfound magic. It’s Bae and Belle who need protecting. As he’s demonstrated in the past, the pirate has no compunctions about going after vulnerable people close to me, and I simply cannot be present at every waking moment to protect them myself.”

“So let me get this straight,” Emma glowered, “you want me to lie and hide important memories from a man who’s confused and struggling to remember his past?” Her fingers twitched, itching to just punch Gold as she’d once threatened. “No,” she refused. “I won’t do it.”

“Suit yourself, dearie,” he shrugged, looking as cool as a cucumber. “But what do you think is going to happen when the pirate gets back those memories and decides to exact his revenge once and for all, with easy access to powerful magic that he has no means to control? As you’ve already seen fit to remind me, you are the town Sheriff. Isn’t it your job to ensure the well-being of _all_ members of Storybrooke? Are you willing to accept responsibility for the collateral damage he’ll wreak on the rest of our community? Your parents? Henry?”

 _You snake,_ Emma thought, seething. _You ugly, filthy, poisonous snake!_

“Now, do we have a deal, or do you resign your position as Sheriff?” the pawnbroker pressed.

“I agree,” she said evenly, using all the strength she could muster not to spit in his face, “not to tell Killian about your mutual past, given that it could potentially put your family and the rest of Storybrooke in danger.” Gold raised his brow at her easy compliance, and Emma continued, “But,” she emphasized, “I will not lie to him if he remembers something on his own or asks me something relating to your shared past straight out.” She stared at Gold with a distaste bordering on hatred. The more she knew of the slimy man, the more she sympathized with Killian’s centuries-long resolve to exact revenge—however misguided.

She extended her hand, “Do we have a deal?”

“That we do,” he agreed, extending his own.

They shook on it, and Gold instructed Emma when to return to his shop for her first lesson in magic. She listened with half an ear, feeling bitter and uneasy about the deal she’d just struck, but determined not to let Gold win. She wouldn’t let herself be manipulated like this, no matter what he believed. Aside from her own moral objections, it would set a bad precedent and make the entire police department vulnerable to his twisted machinations.

“You aren’t really going to hide his memories from him are you?” Whale demanded after they left the pawn shop.

“A deal’s a deal,” she admitted, casting a glance over her shoulder. Gold stood near one of the display windows, watching them retreat. His expression was unreadable. “Two can play his dirty little game, though,” she muttered.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” she said in a low tone, “that if Gold thinks he can keep me under his thumb by refusing to teach Killian magic in the same breath that he demands protection from him and his untrained power, I’m just going to have to teach Killian magic myself.”

“What? What about Regina? Or all those fairies living up in the convent?”

Emma gazed over at the blond doctor, debating with herself how much she should tell him. Could he be trusted to know the full truth and gravity of the precarious situation Storybrooke was in? He was a doctor, no matter how he’d come to possess his medical knowledge, and therefore used to keeping confidences. He could probably be trusted, but it wasn’t her secret to reveal. “Regina’s busy dealing with her own repercussions from Neverland,” she finally said. “She’s in no position to train anyone in magic right now. As for the fairies, I already talked to them, right after we got back from Neverland. They said it would be difficult to teach me without more fairy dust to work with.”

“How much do they need?” he wondered.

“I don’t know, but the impression I got was that they’re practically out and rationing it—but you didn’t hear it from me. I’ll just have to learn magic through texts and ritual like Regina did, and teach Killian whatever I’m learning from Gold. That’ll give him more time to recover the memories on his own, and if he doesn’t…I’ll tell him myself once he has some control.”

“What happened to ‘A deal’s a deal?’” Whale asked with a sardonic smile.

“Oh, I’m going to keep my word. I promised Gold that I wouldn’t tell Killian about their mutual history with each other. I never promised that I wouldn’t fill in _Killian’s_ memories of his side of the story, when the time is right.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Victor finally said after a long silence.

“So do I,” she said grimly. “So do I.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks go out, as always, to my beta reader, Raams, for looking over this chapter! I hope you all enjoy it!

Although there were still a certain amount of holes in Killian’s memories regarding Emma Swan and the exact nature of his past relationship with her, he sensed with a certainty that quiet reticence was not a natural component of her personality. And yet, she had hardly spoken more than a few words to him since they had ordered dinner. Something had happened since the last time they had been in each other’s company to make her withdraw from him, and Killian knew intuitively that it had something to do with him. He wasn’t fool enough to believe she wanted to end their barely-begun courtship. Her demeanor had been untroubled when he had dropped by the police station on Monday morning to bring her one of those hot, sweetened chocolate drinks she loved; she had readily accepted his invitation to dinner later that week, smiling and finding excuses to linger in his company --giving him a tour of the small station and showcasing a number of baffling contraptions with cords and buttons --before returning to work with her father.

No, whatever troubled Emma Swan, Killian was positive that it wasn’t anything that he had _done_ , so much as it was something that affected him.  But what could have happened in the two short days since he’d invited her to dine with him at Tony’s to account for the change in her?

Studying the worried crease of her forehead in the candlelight, Killian frowned. He reached across the checkered red and white tablecloth and laid his hand on Emma’s arm. Startled, she glanced up at him, her expression full of confusion, and then chagrin. Lacing her fingers through Killian’s she offered him a small smile of apology. “I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”

“I can see that, love,” he replied with concern. “Care to unburden yourself to an old pirate?”

“Oh, four or five centuries isn’t that old,” she teased with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Rumplestiltskin has shoes older than that.”

Killian felt a peculiar prickle at the name. _Rumplestiltskin?_ He puzzled over the name briefly, wondering why it sounded so familiar to him, and then narrowed his eyes at Emma. “It’s _three_ centuries, you little minx, and I’m still sharp enough to know when I’m being baited to avoid answering a question.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” she insisted as the server arrived with their appetizers, setting the hot dishes between them.

They had decided to eat family-style, sharing the small selection of dishes between them, on Snow’s recommendation. Emma’s mother had been all too happy to help him select the restaurant and help him make the reservation, when Killian had called on her one afternoon.

He hadn’t even intended to end up at the Charmings’ apartment. He had been wandering around Storybrooke, re-familiarizing himself with it and hoping to recover more memories into the bargain. The pawnbroker’s shop was of particular interest to him. Killian had stood across the street, glaring at it, for a good half an hour before he’d forced himself to move on, trying to determine why the sight of it filled him with such irrational loathing.

Uneasy and distracted, he’d found himself outside the apartment Emma shared with her parents and Henry a short time later. Killian stared at the door, disturbed that his feet had carried him there so readily when his mind had been so distracted. He’d only been here once that he could recall—when he’d picked Emma up for their date. Yet clearly some part of him knew the path to Emma’s home well enough to bring him there when all of his attention had been consumed with other concerns.

Snow caught up with him during his musings, arriving home from work, and Killian hadn’t been able to say no to her insistent urgings to come in and join him for tea. Plying him with almost as many cookies as questions, Emma’s mother was delighted to learn that Killian intended to reciprocate and ask Emma out for the next date.

_“Oh, you have to take her to Tony’s!” Snow insisted after Killian asked for the names of some of the best dining establishments in Storybrooke.  “It’s small, but it’s so romantic! They have a violinist that will come and serenade you, and the food is to die for!”_

The memory melted away, and Killian reached for his fork. “Oh? It sounds like you’re avoiding the question to me.”

Emma picked up her wine glass and held it close to her, as if it were a shield. “More like trying to steer the conversation around to a difficult topic.” She took a long drink from her glass and frowned. “You know that uneasy feeling you have near Gold’s pawn shop?”

Killian nodded. “You said he and I were… not on good terms.”

“Well, you and he have a definite history, to say the least. A very long one,” she added. “And while I’m not privy to all of the details—I wasn’t even alive when all of it started, for one thing—I know you blame him for the loss of your hand.”

His hand? Killian thought with a frown. Yes, the doctor had mentioned that Killian had lost his hand in some sort of disagreement involving Milah, although Killian had no memory of its actual loss himself. But Milah? He had much clearer memories of Milah—the way the breeze played through her hair; how she inhaled the strong, salty sea air and looked as if her soul had been reborn every time they left port to sail again; her scent as she curled close to him in the darkness of his quarters after they had made love; the way the sunset crowned her head in a multitude of breathtaking colors when she took First Dog Watch. Milah had made him feel whole in a way that Killian hadn’t known he’d needed after his brother died.

“A sword fight,” he said suddenly, re-living the event with sudden clarity, “He came looking for Milah one day, and I challenged him to a sword fight, but he refused to fight and prove his devotion to the woman he said he loved. We thought we were free of him after that, but after a time he came back. He was powerful. The Dark One.” Killian frowned, straining to fill in the gaps as his memories became choppy and lost clarity, “I tried to fight him, but the scaly little coward cut off my hand with a sword. He wanted something, but we wouldn’t give it to him.”

But what? Killian wondered. What had his enemy wanted so badly that he’d been willing to fight for it, when he had never been willing to fight for Milah? Killian’s disgust for the reptilian little man increased. He simply could not imagine placing any material object, no matter how highly it was valued, above Milah or what was in her best interests.

“That’s right,” Emma smiled encouragingly, looking pleased, “He wanted a magic bean that Milah had given to you, and he cut off your hand to take it from you.”

Killian mulled over this information. “This difficult news you have to tell me,” he began, “it has to do with my enemy, Gold.” She nodded, and Killian took an intuitive leap. “He’s the one who impersonated the doctor and tried to tamper with my ability to recover my memories, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Something about her answer was off. Although Killian sensed she was being forthright with him in her answer, he knew somehow that she was hiding something from him. Something very important. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“A few things,” she admitted with an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry. I _want_ to tell you certain things, but I can’t. It’s part of the deal I struck with him.”

“A deal?” he growled—a bit too loudly, from the annoyed looks other restaurant patrons cast in their direction. “What kind of deal?” he asked in a more muted and even tone. “The man is dangerous, Emma, and he’ll do anything to get what he wants.”

“I know,” she agreed, “but I made a deal with him to teach me magic, since mine isn’t coming back. And he has accepted.”

Killian stared at her. “Of course it’s coming back,” he protested. “That day in the hospital, you blew out the lights and all those other contraptions.”

“That wasn’t me who blew out the lights and broke all of those machines,” she repeated patiently, “that was you.”

“That’s absurd,” he argued, “I haven’t a single drop of magic running through these veins.”

“Well…” Emma set her wine glass down, her expression becoming somewhat guilty. She smoothed out the napkin in her lap. “That’s the thing. Now you do, actually.”

“What do you mean, now I do?”

The waiter returned to their table just then, interrupting with solicitous goodwill as he brought them a basket of fresh, piping hot breadsticks. The breadsticks were accompanied by a buttery garlic sauce for dipping, and the next few minutes were spent in relative silence while they rearranged their table space. After refilling their wineglasses and assuring them that their main dishes would be ready in just a little while longer, the waiter left again, and Killian peered across the table at Emma.

“When you were injured in Neverland,” Emma said in a low tone, resuming the conversation as if they had never been interrupted at all, “I used my magic to heal you.”

“The doctor mentioned that briefly,” Killian agreed with a slight frown.

“Well, what he didn’t mention is that your injuries were so… extensive… that I shouldn’t have been able to heal you at all.”

Killian’s brow drew together as he analyzed her words. “What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have—I didn’t think—I just acted—”

Her words were choppy, and Killian could see quite plainly from the enormous amount of pain that was reflected in her eyes that she was having great difficulty even speaking about any of this. Reaching across the table to take her hand in silent reassurance that no mere words could ever drive him away from her, Killian felt a flash of familiarity. And for just a moment, he was overwhelmed with impressions of a blistering heat; standing in close quarters with Emma; sharing nips of rum; the vulnerable, lost look in her eyes; and saying something… something he hadn’t said to anyone, much less believed in a long time…

The exact words eluded him, frustrating Killian, and he grasped Emma’s hand more firmly, grounding himself in the present moment as he tried to listen to her words.

“…think when I used my magic to heal your injuries in Neverland, I…overextended myself,” she was saying. “I—we—that is, Gold and me—thought I’d burned all my magic up.”

Killian felt a flicker of surprise at the implications. “My injuries were that extensive?”

Emma hesitated. “Yes,” she finally said. “You were in very bad shape when I found you.”

“And that’s why you believed your magic had been burned up completely?”

“All magic comes with a price,” Emma answered with a sardonic twist to her lips. “I thought losing my _magic_ was that price. I didn’t mind the idea too much. I had everything I needed otherwise. A home; my family, finally, after years of wishing and disappointment… and close friends, like you.”

 _Friends?_ No, that wasn’t quite right, Killian decided. Something felt off with that description. It didn’t feel like a deliberate lie, and yet it certainly wasn’t the truth. Emma was hiding something from him, he realized, without trying to lie to him outright.

Emma continued before he could question her about it. “But my losing my magic wasn’t the real price,” she said with a regretful shake of her head, “even if I did give it to you by accident rather than burning it up. It was only a consequence. The _real_ price was that you don’t remember me, or us, or what we’ve been through together.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Killian spoke up with a certain amount of chagrin. Emma stared at him in surprise, and he hurried to explain, “Something happened a few moments ago, when I reached for your hand. You were in pain, and I want to make it better, to reassure you that nothing you could say would drive me away…. And I had the strangest feeling that I’d experienced a very similar situation before.”

“Déjà vu,” Emma murmured, looking interested. Her green eyes were alight with new hope. “Of what? What did you remember?”

“I didn’t remember anything, not exactly,” he said with a single shake of his head.  “It wasn’t like the way that it was with Henry, where I recalled specific events. It wasn’t as substantial as that. It was more like… not pictures… impressions? Intuition?” He flexed his hand, his jaw clenching in frustration as he struggled to put it in to words. “I just— _knew_.” Glass shattered, splattering wine onto the checkered tablecloth.

Killian stared down at the wreckage of their broken wineglasses in dismay.

“Well,” Emma said under her breath as two of the wait staff hurried over to check on them and clean up the mess, “I guess that answers my question about whether or not anything else strange has happened in your presence.”

He opened his mouth to object, but their waiter, who had returned with their food and found the table covered in glass and wine stains, directed them to another table so that the staff could clean up the mess properly and dispose of the stained tablecloth.

Scouring his memories of the past several weeks, Killian realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that there _had_ been a number of odd or unexplained occurrences—a harsh gust of wind whipping through his cabin, where there hadn’t been a hint of one before, and the sudden shattering every bit of glass in his room; a wave of warm air, almost like a breeze, filling his cabin when he clinked his cup of rum with Emma’s; sparks, white-hot, like lightning, exploding from the strange metal contraptions and overhead lanterns of the hospital room when rage coursed through Killian at the thought that someone in Storybrooke had been tampering with the recovery of his memories; the warm, animating feeling that spread through him while he’d held the flowers that he’d brought for Emma on their first date, and the remarks afterward about the extraordinarily robust smell of the lovely blooms…

“How did this happen?” he said in quiet dismay, after they had been re-seated at a new table and their platters of food arrayed on the table before them. Promising to return with a new basket of breadsticks, since the previous one had been littered with shards of glass, their waiter left, and Killian shook his head. “I mean, I know how it happened in the sense that you overextended yourself, I just don’t understand it in the larger sense.”

“Philosophically, you mean?” Emma inquired, dishing up some lasagna onto her plate.

“More like mechanically,” he disagreed. “What caused your magic to react that way and bind itself to me?”

“Well, ah,” Emma took a bite of her lasagna. She looked somewhat embarrassed, even guilty. “No one’s really sure,” she hedged, after swallowing her food. “But now you see why I need to take lessons from Gold.”

“No,” he argued in a firm, even voice, “I don’t see. Surely there is someone else who could teach you and help you to learn the skill.”

“Actually, there is not,” she murmured in a tone so low that Killian strained to catch what she was saying. He frowned before he realized that Emma was probably doing it so that the other patrons in the restaurant could not eavesdrop. Given the spectacular scene he’d unintentionally caused only a few moments ago, he could hardly blame her.  “Regina lost her magic when she used the Dark Mirror in Neverland so we could defeat Pan, and the fairies have a very limited and finite supply of pixie dust. I don’t think they’ll be of much help to me. Besides, someone needs to help you learn to control your magic, and if I don’t take these lessons from Gold, how can I?”

Killian stared at her, lowering the forkful of pasta that had been on its way to his mouth. “You want to teach me magic?” he blinked, as the full import of her words hit him. He felt frightened for her, angry that she would put herself at risk on his behalf, no matter what the circumstance—but particularly just so that she could help him learn to use magic. “But if you don’t know any yourself—” He stopped, inhaling deeply as he tried to calm down. “Emma, do you really think it’s wise? How can you help to train me while you’re busy learning yourself? How do we even know the type of magic you’ll be learning will translate well to teaching me mine?”

“We don’t,” she admitted with a small shrug of her shoulders, “but we have to try. There are no other options, Killian. Believe me, if there were, I wouldn’t be knocking on Gold’s door for any help.”

Killian was struggling again, feeling out of his depth as he tried to find the words to express what he just knew inside of him. He cared for this woman a great deal. Exactly how much, he was only beginning to suspect. But she meant something to him, and the instinct to protect her was strong. “Emma…”

“The deal’s done, Killian. I can’t change that part. But I can turn this to our advantage, maybe. Let me try.”

He exhaled softly, unconvinced. “How do you mean?” he finally inquired.

"Right now Gold is the only major player when it comes to magic in Storybrooke," she pointed out. "That gives him leverage over the rest of us. And give his penchant for abuse of power, that's not a position we can afford to place him in. We need to learn magic, both of us, to keep him in check."

"Wouldn't it be a simple matter to overpower us?" he considered. "He has centuries of experience."

"If it came down to brute magical strength, yes. But Gold rarely resorts to that if he can avoid it. He wants to wield power, but he also wants to do so with as little headache about it as possible. Deep down, he’s still the same coward he’s always been. That's where you come in, Killian. You never needed any magic to piss him off or make him sweat. Gold has always seen you as a threat. If you were to learn magic, you would be even doubly so. I'll bet my last dollar that’s why he is refusing to teach you magic. Well, that and the fact that he hates you and gets some kind of sick satisfaction out of thwarting you."

Killian inhaled deeply, weighing the pros and cons. He still didn't like any of it, but she had some quite valid points. Did any of them really want to experience life under the cruel thumb of the crocodile?

"Killian, I'd really like you at my side on this," she pleaded. "If my deal with Gold goes south, I need you to be my ace in the hole."

"Your what?"

"Sorry," she apologized. "Common idiom. What I mean to say is that if something goes wrong, and my deal with Gold turns sour, I need you to have my back and take him out. He won't know that you've been taking lessons, and you can provide the element of surprise if necessary.”

Killian appreciated her strategy; certainly it was useful to have contingency plans in a situation as risky as this. The face that _he_ was the contingency plan, however, made him uneasy. Still, what choice did they really have? He couldn’t think of other workable alternatives in the face of the situation Emma had just described. And magic or no magic, he would certainly do everything within his abilities to ensure Emma’s safety.

“When you put it that way,” he conceded, “I see your point.”

“Then we’re agreed?” she clarified. “I take what I learn from my lessons with Gold and teach it to you, so we can circumvent this stranglehold of power he has designs on for Storybrooke?”

“Aye,” he said with great reluctance, “for better or worse.”

“Hey, either way, we’re in this together,” Emma reassured him, reaching across the table to take his hand. “And as you once pointed out, we make quite the team. Everything will turn out fine.”

“Let us hope you’re right,” he smiled.

But Killian couldn’t help but wonder, as he settled into the rest of their meal and the topic changed to lighter matters, if Gold wasn’t anticipating their subterfuge, and they were somehow playing right into his hands.


End file.
